


Trouble Sons

by Blessedskies_turning



Series: Trouble Sons [1]
Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Cars, Character Death, Fighting, Hospital, Metions of drugs, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Mystery, Original work - Freeform, Private School, Romance, Violence, beatings, child abuse', metions of abuse, metions of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-06-27 02:44:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 31,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15676419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blessedskies_turning/pseuds/Blessedskies_turning
Summary: Roman Palayo never had a big family. And hates his brother and only remaining family member, Vincent.Enzo Abbott has never really had a family. Unless you count his retired rockstar father, who usually spent his time either beating his son or snorting coke. Oftentimes both.Roman and Enzo have a inseparable friendship, and would throw themselves in front of busses to save each other.After their home, cars, and persons are damaged they begin to wonder if they might have too. Bruises, dents, and holes might be what’s left in the end.Someone is determined to take what little they have away. The boys are determined to keep it. Can they manage doing it and coming out unscathed?





	1. Pitching Venom

Roman had fought with his brother many times. More than he could count, or cared to.

The school parking lot was cold, and dark. Cars dotted the space around him and the far off stadium lights made the ground a skinny black mirror. The school loomed in the back, a large menacing and regal brick building. 

Vincent was smoking, and sitting on the hood of his car.

Roman watched his brother with careful eyes. “You know those aren't cool anymore?” 

Vincent didn't look up, just flicked some of the ashes on the the ground and took another drag. His eyes didn't meet Roman’s.

Roman shifted his feet. His brother never visited him at school, and Roman didn't visit him in California. The dorms were enough during the long holidays, and his friends were enough to keep him company. But trouble clung to Vincent like the singe of tobacco to his clothes.  Roman asked the question burning his tongue, “Why are you here?” He hoped he sounded irritated, he hope Vincent heard the hate in his words. He hoped they burned him.

Vincent finally looked up and Roman almost smiled. His eyebrow was cocked in a way that unsettled something in Roman. It wasn't that it was intimidating, it just made them look similar. And Roman was one for dissociating himself with his brother. When studied the Palayo brother’s looked sorely alike. They both had the trademark black hair, and its shapeless strands, and the deep brown eyes and straight wide nose.

Something closed his eyes, his mouth twisted into a frown. “I need to talk to you,” Vincent dropped is cigarette to the side and used a shiny black shoe to stub it out. 

“That’s what phones are for.”

“Seriously, This is important.” Vincent’s eyes tried to dig into Roman, Roman looked away. “You need to move. I have a place for you in Ohio.” 

_ The goddamn bastard. _ Something sparked inside Roman, and old burning forest fire Roman could only lasso when he wasn't staring down his brother. It crawled up his neck and down his hands. It bloomed inside his chest. He spoke and it came out a little bit like a laugh, “Ohio? Oh you can't be serious. ” 

Vincent stood up, his shoulders squared. “It’s not safe here Roman.” 

Roman scoffed and looked away. He was trying to keep this red hot anger down. “Isn’t that why you sent me here in the first place?” He turned back to his brother, he began to growl. “Because after mom died and dad killed himself I was ‘too much to handle’ and I would ‘be safer in Clarkston’? That is a load of crap and we both know it. So don't come here and give me that bullshit just because you want to groom me to become one of your drug dealers.”  Vincent worked for a cartel, selling coke to the far edges of the country and beyond. He got the gig after building up a good web on the streets of his home town. After the Palayo family tragedy Vincent thought the only way to help their father pay the bills was to traffic the very thing that killed their mother. And after the same thing killed their father Vincent kept it up. Roman couldn’t stand any substance regulated by the FDA or the FBI. 

Vincent lifted himself off the car, “Oh, so after all this time, after I had to drag you here you decide you want to stay. You said yourself you don't belong here, why do you want to stay here in the first place.” 

Roman watched the pain wash over Vincent’s face as he spoke, “Family worth keeping.” 

The sky was dark. Vincent’s eye shined, he looked away and pressed his lip together. Their breath came out in giant white clouds. “This is the last time i'm gonna say this, you need to leave.” 

“No.” Roman was going to hold his ground. 

“So you stay for the son of a coke head rock star, but you won’t listen to your own brother when he’s trying to save your life.” 

“I can't blame Enzo for who his father is, but I can blame you for your choices. You created this mess so clean the goddamn thing up yourself.” 

“I did what I had to do,” Vincent snarled slowly. 

“Really? There are other ways to go about it other than jumping to an illegal drug cartel.” Roman’s reply was smooth but his venom pitched it’s claws in at the end.  
Vincent got closer, “I kept you and dad alive,” 

“No you didn't!” Roman’s heart was shoving itself into his throat. Again his hands dropped into the bathtub and pulled a lifeless body from the cold water. Again his hands wrapped around the cold flesh of a mother’s wrist. He was plunged into the depths of his grief and he drenched himself in the icy glare of his brother. Vincent had gotten underneath his skin and he couldn’t unhitch the barbs. “If anything you killed him, why do you think I hate you so much? Because of what you did to me. And to him. I could never forgive you for it” His voice was a snarl, a low growl, the warning rattle of a snake in the bushes. 

Vincent got closer, nicotine on his breath and hate on this tongue. “Maybe you’re just an ungrateful brat.” 

Roman slammed his fist into the expectant cheek of his brother. His hand ached, but his heart sang.  
Vincent reeled back, hand cupped to cheek and blood running from his mouth 

Roman stepped forwards and wrapped his hand around the collar of Vincent’s jacket. He lifted him up and slammed him against the hood of his stupid car. After a couple of bashes Roman stumbled away from his brother. Blood coursed through his ears and blinded his sight for reason. All thought and feeling was a bleached version of what is usually was inside Roman. 

Vincent charged. Knocking his knuckles against Roman’s face and sending a knee between his legs. 

Then Roman was on the ground, gasping for a breath. Clawing for perch on what was his blinding rage. Vincent was on top of him then, landing more punches on his battered outline. Roman had enough after a couple of hits and brought his knee up in the same motion Vincent had. Only harder. His brother went rolling off the the side and Roman took the opportunity to slug him against the asphalt. 

The brothers had never been taught to properly fight, so it was messy and loud. But they knew each other quirks and how they like to lean so it was still impressive. It was a tangle of bone against bone and blood on the ground, elbows went to ribs and knuckles to cheeks. 

The fighting didn't stop until a group of boys pulled them apart. They were exhausted and heaving, battered and bloodied. 

Prince, a buff brown haired boy in Roman’s class looped his arms around Vincent and dragged him off of Roman. Vincent barely fought against him but Roman thrashed in the arms of someone who smelled like thai food. 

Roman was standing in the dark parking lot of his boarding school. He was seventeen and his parents funeral was three years in the past. Really Vincent was asking Roman to do something he’d done before. Really Vincent was asking to take, take, take all of it. Anything Roman had Vincent seemed to hate. 

Vincent was released. He spat at Roman, the wad of blood and saliva landing in between Roman’s feet. “I came here to talk, but you never listen.” He jabbed a finger into the air between them, “Do come running to me when shit hits the fan.” 

Roman focused on steadying his breathing, he watched the glistening glob of spit between his shoes. 

He heard Vincent scoff, then distantly, get into his car a leave. 

The hands on his arms loosened and he was empty, hollowed. Vincent had just sucked all the emotion from his body and thoughts from his brain. All he could see was his mother, dying, in the hospital bed. His father, dead, in the bathtub. Vincent, his hand above it all and his eyes dry as their only family was lowered into the ground. 

He didn't know how he made it to his dorm that night. 

 


	2. Gifted Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman shows up to school with bruises.  
> Enzo shows up with a bag of guilt.

It was a chilly morning. 

Enzo pulled on his backpack and made his way outside. His breath made obscure shapes in the air. Even the short walk from the dorms to the classroom buildings was a tough one to make in the fall chill. Enzo worked on his thin corduroy jacket, trying to get it to offer more warmth. 

It refused. 

Finally he gave up and settled for watching the birds fullter around against the pale backdrop of gray early morning skies. All around him tired students mulled about. All of them dressed in the black sweater uniform of the school. It wasn’t the fact that they had to wear the uniforms that bothered Enzo, its was that the Clarkston dress was boring, no frills, no color, no fraying edges or even crested symbols. It made everyone look like a ghostly image. 

Enzo had decided that no good came out of boarding school. At least not for him. Most of the boys here were, what the staff liked to call, on their last strike. Fighting, racing, stealing, disobeying, these were the defects of the Clarkston Devils. Except for Enzo Abbott. 

The sidewalk was crowded. Enzo weaved his way through quietly, eyes tracing the clouds and silowets of neatly trimmed trees. Cars were parked on the sidewalk, they belonged to the lucky students who could one: afford off campus living. And two: qualified for it. The former was Enzo’s only problem. Though his father sent money every few months for school supplies or sometimes clothing he didn’t get nearly enough to pay for an apartments rent. 

Hence the cold seeping into Enzo’s skin. 

Roman was sitting on one of the benches lining the walk. His head was ducked and the black material of his track sweater was pulled up over his mouth. Enzo walked over. Hands in pockets, he watched. Roman was wrestling with something, mulling complicated thoughts over in his mind. When he looked up Enzo realized he hadn’t seen the bruises. 

He examined them like and object being handed to him. A deep purple color spreading over his cheekbone and under his eye, angry red snaking over his nose, and a split lip. Enzo had seen his fair share of bruises, on his face when he was younger, and on his body when he was older. But it was a completely different concept to see them on Roman. His face was a ruin but his usual warmth lingered underneath his battered figure. 

“Vincent showed up last night.” Roman answered the question Enzo hadn't even noticed he was beginning to ask. 

“Did he have a brick?” Enzo half hoped Roman’s heart shaped lips would curl into a smile. They didn’t 

Instead Roman crossed his arms and tipped his head skywards, when he spoke his voice was firm, “he wants to take me away.” 

“We can’t have that can we?” 

Roman stood up, he was angry. Maybe at the brother Enzo had never met but somehow knew, or the joking Enzo was doing about the topic, maybe at the sky for being so mournful. The look on his face was flat as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and started down the sidewalk.  
The words tumbled out before Roman could slip out of earshot, “What did you say?” Enzo’s heart was running circles. 

Roman turned. It was like he was the only person in the yard, like his voice was the only noise Enzo could hear. “He didn't leave with all the blood he arrived with.” Silently he turned and was lost in the mull of students. 

Roman had not only refused his brother, but fought him over it. Part of Enzo felt guilty about the mark Roman wore, but the other part of him found comfort in them. 

Mr Peters was a distant teacher, Enzo had once had the thought that a bird could fly through the open window, hit Peters in the face and he wouldn't even blink and eye. Enzo spent his time drawing doodles into the margin of his notebook. It was a car, tires spitting up huge wafts of lead colored clouds. Enzo was supposed to be reading, but he couldn't. Last night swam in his head. His mind wandered to Roman, and Enzo's constructed version of Vincent. 

Given the chance, would Enzo do the same?  
Enzo thoughts circled back when the classroom door opened. A long face stuck itself in and scanned the room. It was Orman, his suit smooth and tie large and welcoming. When Orman’s narrow green eyes snagged on Enzo he stuck out a finger and made a curling motion with it. Obediently Enzo stood and made his way over to the door, Peters was still daydreaming out the window so he managed to slip out of class without protest. Orman was impatiently looking at his watch when Enzo stepped into the hall. 

His mind swam this anxiety. His father’s lawyer was a rarity, especially in the spanning months since he’d spoken to Patrick Abbott. Though Orman was well groomed and nice to look at it was a worrying sight. 

The lawyer’s voice echoed down the hall, “I trust you’ve been holding up.” 

“Well enough,” Enzo smiled a greeting. “What does he want?” 

The suitcase Orman had been holding was set down and a manila folder was produced, “Do you remember Effie Abbott, your grandmother?”  
Enzo folded his arms over his chest, “Sure.” Effie was a muddy figure in Enzo’s memory, he’d only met the women once. Truth was, if he was asked the only thing he could say about her was that she smelled like pre packaged taco seasoning and the fourth of july. 

“Well she passed away,” Orman consulted his folder, “four weeks ago.”

“Damn.” 

“She had a home here, in town actually,” he looked up for this part, “She’s given it to you.”  
Enzo’s mouth fell neatly open. A small huff of either a breath or a laugh escaped his parted lips. 

“W-what about my father?” 

“He wasn’t mentioned.” 

He’s gonna be pissed. Enzo could imagine his car parked outside in the lot, he could see how his father would charge into the room. His cheek stung with a slap that would never happen. “Um,”  
Orman noticed Enzo’s sudden panic. “I have a few things for you to sign, and I need to go over the logistics of it but otherwise it’s yours.” 

Enzo nodded and let Orman lead him into a conference room. Grief struck his chest as he signed the papers, and the keys Orman finally set down on the table seared into his vision. Enzo felt guilty, and angry that he felt guilty. His father never let him have anything, at meals he was reminded of all the hard work his father had done to get that food in front of Enzo. When buying clothes or shoes Patrick always pointed out how unworthy Enzo was of the stuff he got. Everything came with string attached, everything was dealt with a hefty side of “you owe me”.

Orman leaned over and cupped Enzo shoulder with a hand, “You deserve this.” 

I deserve this? 

Orman left the room. 

Enzo could see all the false guilt written on his skin but he couldn't wash it off. It was bled into him. But all those times he had to wear long sleeve shirts, or the time he learned how to put on makeup over his bruises, or the moment he was sitting in the passenger side of his father’s car and his forehead was pitched into the window, leaving a spider web of cracks in the glass and a deep cut in his skin. All those hours spent bawled up in the shower, or curled underneath the blankets in his room, hoping, praying to a god he didn't believe in. 

Maybe the uneven bones left over from a broken rib were proof he did deserve this.  
Enzo pressed the keys into his pocket and rose from the seat. Enzo Abbott had been given something, and he was determined to keep it. No strings attached.


	3. Wanna Do That Again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enzo decides to surprise his friend.

By the afternoon the sun had obligingly burnt off most of the clouds. By the time class was out another headache was pressed in between Roman’s eyes.

The brightening sky made matters worse. Though it was still cold, and Roman’s sweatshirt did little to keep him warm. He’d already stripped off his sweater uniform and stuffed it inside his backpack, trying to keep it on as little as possible. The walkway outside the classroom building was less packed then this morning, which made it easy for him to make his way over to his car.

Roman had thought he might get in some time to go to the shops downtown. Clarkston was   
situated in an in between area. 10 minutes south was sleepy town, a few blocks of artisanal shops and narrow streets outlined in more blocks of large and impressive houses. 10 minutes north was a large forested area, roads, scarred into the land made the distance between hidden homes seem that much larger. But near Clarkston, there were enough homes to feel trapped and not enough to feel social. 

He’d hoped he could run down to the bookstore, or spend time playing with his cameras, but when he got to his shitty white two door parked neatly on the curb, Enzo was sitting crossed legged on the roof. All plans went out the window. The sun was in full force on him, and lit his hair up in a ruddy brown color. He’d pushed his chin length waves back with a thin headband, his head was tipped to the sun, smile running free across his lips. 

“Sometimes I feel like you don’t understand the science of subtlety.” Roman crossed his arm and watched. Enzo slowly fixed him with a smile.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Enzo slid of the roof and walked over to the hood, “What took so long?” 

“School.” 

Enzo let out a sharp laugh. Compared to this morning he seemed exceptionally sunny. Then again the rest of the world did. Roman found himself wondering what had happened in the seven hours to change his mood so drastically. All around he was glad to have this Enzo back. “I’m taking you somewhere.” Enzo stepped forward and held out a palm. Roman stared at it, knowing it was a demand for his keys but he waited. “Come on man!” Enzo shouted into the air. He spun around and went to the driver side door. He wrenched on the handle. It didn't open, of course, Roman hadn't unlocked it. But yet he still stood there, making a scene as he tried to pry the door open. Enzo somehow knew that his dramatic demeanor alway made Roman smile. Roman let his grin spread wide. 

Finally he went over to the passenger side and flung his keys over the car. Enzo caught them and soon they were making their way out of the parking lot. Roman’s head rested against the window and Enzo’s finger tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel. Eventually music blasted through the speakers and a wall of trees pressed the road into narrowing. Enzo had driven north, into the benevolent forest. Trees shaded them and sent millions of uneven rays of sun onto the road and into the interior of the car. Watching the woods race by and listening to Enzo’s persistent humming eased Roman headache. 

The gentle tunes ceased when the car pulled onto a gravel driveway. Roman looked up. All around him was a flat dense woodland, the trees weren’t evergreens anymore, but instead flashed all of the earth colors at them. The ground and the road was covered in the fallen leaves. The drive curved gently, Enzo followed it. When Roman looked over his head was bent to look to the tops of the trees. His mouth hung open and his eyes practically glittered. A gentle smile rested on his open mouth. Roman felt warmth rise up in his chest as he watched Enzo’s starstruck expression. 

This was Enzo. All of him seemed clapped into this one moment, eyes full of wonder, mouth full of smile. Hair fell in front of his face and he did little to move it, just kept driving. 

It happened all at once. Immediately the trees moved out of the way and they were facing a large house. Tendrils of ivy crawled up the sides of the white exterior and the driveway wound into a large circle in front of it. Before Roman could properly take in the sight, or wonder why in the hell they were here, Enzo was getting out. Leaving the door wide open he walked around the car and wandered over the front of the house. Roman followed warily. Enzo hadn’t even parked the car, just left it in the opening, Roman would have taken the time to park in the some of the flat grass on the side. He let the door close and went to stand in front of the car. 

Enzo had his back facing Roman but he could feel the delight stretched across Enzo cheeks. Excitement radiated off him in big golden waves.   
“Why did you bring me to a murder house?”   
Enzo shifted on his feet. His head snapped to look at the wrap around porch. Then, he sprinted up the steps and landed noisily on the wooden boards. When Enzo turned to look at Roman he was barely schooling his features into a casual expression. “Why, you ask. Why?” his voice was loud and booming, his arms spread out in a grand gesture beside him, “Well Roman, Palayo, what your looking at is. My. New. Home.” He turned back around to admire it. 

“Your what now?” 

Enzo walked down the steps to met Roman in the gravel, he jabbed a finger in the air, a sarcastic scholar, “you know, when a rich, distant family member dies you get to bypass all the grief and get straight to the fun.”

“So your saying your uncle died or something and now he’s just giving you his house?” Roman was bit unsure about how to go about the topic. Death was an unpleasant friend of his and though Enzo had thoroughly joked about his family member’s dying he still didn't want to step on any toes. 

To his relief Enzo smiled. Then he reached into his pocket and fished out a set of rusty keys, dangling them in the air he said, “Wanna explore?” 

Roman couldn't help his mouth from answering in a grin, and Enzo couldn’t help but swiftly turn around and bound up the steps. By the time Roman reached the darkly stained door Enzo had it unlocked. Creaking, it swung open. 

Roman felt a shiver run down his back. Was it worry or excitement?

Roman settled on nerves when he saw the interior of the home. It was dark and dust floated around in giant clouds. There were couches and cushioned chairs, a far off dining room and shelves full of books. All the furniture had been turned into white ghosts because of the sheets draped over them. Spears of light came in through the boards covering the windows. 

Next to Roman Enzo’s breath audibly caught. 

He fumbled for his phone. The flashlight clicked on, doing little to illuminate the eerie living room. Roman ventured in first, taking his flashlight out too. The manmade light caught on crown molding and solid oak. Roman went to his left, through the large opening that lead to the kitchen. Dusty dishes sat behind glass cabinet doors, which were painted a robin egg blue. There was checkered linoleum and butcher block countertops. The sink was yellowed and fridge was dark and empty.

Roman went back out the the main room. 

The whole house was old. Refined by the taste of Enzo’s older family. Obviously whoever owned it before had, had good taste. Enzo was laying on one of the couches that faced a natural wood fireplace. Roman regarded the sheet that had been thrown to the floor, he picked it up, set it on the back of the couch and sat down next to Enzo. The boy’s eyes were tracing the high ceilings. 

Quietly he whispered, “You know when you first moved out here and we shared a dorm?” 

Roman made a conformational sound. 

Enzo moved to look at Roman, “Wanna do that again?” 

Roman turned to look at the fireplace. Even when he’d had a family he never lived in a home like this. The Palayo home was nice but not grand. This place was king knelt in dry and withered crabgrass. It had potential and an antique and dignified feel to it. “Are you asking me to move into your creepy murder house?” 

Enzo nodded, “I’m asking you to move into my creepy murder house.”


	4. Colliding Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They make a home out of the house, the fire is bright and the room is warm.   
> But the dark still bleeds into their small world.

Enzo could remember the first time he moved into the Clarkston dorms. Or actually more specific, the feeling of it. 

Even after he’d uppacked and inhabited the cramped room for weeks it was still awkward. He still felt like he was too big for the space, wrong. But like he did every year, he got used to the constant buzzing of discomfort and eventually forgot about it. 

But now he sat enveloped in the heat from the living room fire. His guitar sat in his lap, fingers caressing music into the air. Roman was sat next to him. 

They’d spent the weekend tearing down the boards on the window and freeing the furniture from the sheets. Roman had swept the floors and scrubbed the kitchen sink, and Enzo had dusted off surfaces and cleaned the bathroom upstairs. Turns out Enzo had already been approved for off campus living and since Roman had never caused any trouble and had straight A’s the principle was more than willing to accept his request on the spot. They turned this house into a home and celebrated in the festivals of cleaning.

Now the fire popped. The sky darkened. They didn’t talk, words were substituted by the gentle touch of their shoulders. On the floor, knees to knees, elbow to elbow, that’s how they were. Enzo felt held tight by the feeling of safety. There was no looking over his shoulder, no rushed breathing, just this.

Just them. 

His heart sang with the possibility of home. Of the chance this house might be something more. That the crown moldings and vaulted ceilings might hold secrets Enzo could finally to tap into. His heart soared with the scent of Roman in the room. They hadn't shared a dorm since Enzo’s freshman year. And now that they were both seniors that felt like a very long time ago.

“Are you playing ‘I Want it That Way’?” Roman spoke softly.

Enzo smiled, “Yes,” 

“You’re using your guitar to play Backstreet Boys?” 

“Yes.” 

Roman’s mouth quirked. Their staring lingered, then his eyes slid away. Back to watching the fire.   
Later that night Enzo was sitting in his king size bed, book laying open in his lap. He was glad to have the master because the windows were large and let him watch the stars at night, and it allowed for a giant bed. He wasn't reading, not any more. His eyes traced the sky. 

Something knocked against the interior wall. Then a sting of small curses came from the other side. Roman had been crashing around in his room for a bit, probably unpacking. Enzo felt a warm feeling settle over him. Almost like ash on the road after a forest fire, yet not so suffocating. He let it take a hold of him. He cast off his book and stood. Roman had moved in with him. His things were in the space next to Enzo’s. As he padded into the hall light flooded from his own room, Roman’s door hung open like a mouth. 

“What are you doing?” Enzo said knocking his knuckles against the door jamb. 

Roman looked up, he was rifling through a duffle bag set on his bed, chest bare and legs covered by flannel pajama pants. His hair was wet and hung down in front of his forehead in thick black strings. “Oh, just unpacking. Did I wake you?” 

Enzo shook his head. Roman watched him for a second, then went back to sifting through his belongings. The clock already hung up on the wall, read six o'clock. “Hey I have to drop the dorm keys off, wanna go get something to eat?” 

Roman looked up, “Sure.”

Enzo nodded. After Roman had put a shirt and sweatshirt and Enzo had put real pants on they loaded themselves in the car and headed down the dark and windy roads. Enzo drove and Roman dozed in the passenger seat. It was quiet but not awkward. Enzo did not turn on the music this time, just drove. They came to the parking lot in the school and Enzo felt himself hoping to be home. Back in the living room. He went to open the door, warmth was sucked from the car as it cracked open. 

Roman’s voice rose from the dark interior of the vehicle, “Here,” Enzo looked over to see Roman peeling his hoodie off, he handed it over in a waft of lavender and sandalwood scent. “It’s cold out there.” 

Enzo accepted it. It was baggy on him but he was thankful for the heat it provided against the chilly air. More so for the pleasant scent that clung to it. As he walked towards the office the stars spun around in the sky, lifting him to perfect contemptment. He went to the drop slot and sid the small package inside. The bang echoed as the key fell in. 

He turned back to the sidewalk. But in the seconds it took him to return the keys, the night and the day had past and an entirely new blackness clung to the sky. The air was still. The night was holding its breath. Something pricked Enzo as he walked towards the distant car, why had he parked so far away? Enzo looked over his shoulder, nothing. Just darkness clinging to his heels. There were no overhead lights. Enzo walked quicker. 

Someone was here. Or someone was there. 

The bushes rustled. 

Enzo’s heart stopped. His voice was choked by fear, his head throbbed a warning. Run. A figure slid into view in front of him, from behind the tree. Their shoulder’s outlined in the darkness, large and wide, a bit like Roman’s. But this man was more muscled. Something hard in his hand glinted a flash of light. Enzo stumbled back. He felt like the stars were falling, down down down, they tumbled towards the earth. 

He waited for them to crash. 

His back bumped into another person behind him. 

Enzo wanted to be home. 

The sky finally collided into the ground. The men pounced on him.


	5. Hitting the Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman has no clue, Enzo’s lying in his own blood.

Roman drummed his fingers against his lap. 

The school was dark, and the music inside the car made it quiet. Enzo hadn’t shown. It had been been ten minutes, of sitting in the eire blackness waiting for him. Roman had begun to think he got caught up in a conversation with one of the students. Enzo and his social habits always made him late, or got him held up. But now anxeity hummed inide Roman, more intense than it usually sat it him. It was coming more alive with every second Enzo’s figure did not appear.

He checked his phone. Nothing. Inside here the dark was coat he wore, its thick buckles unforgivingly trapping him. Roman wrenched to door open, slamming it as he walked towards the office. It was cold. And still. But Roman was jumpy with worry. It was threatening to overflow and spill out of him. 

There was a body, laying, on the walk. 

Dead. A voice hissed into Roman’s ear.

He broke out in a run. 

Vincent’s words rang out in deafening clarity now, “You'll regret this when shit hits the fan.” 

When he got to Enzo he slowed, dropping to a crouch. He looked like a thrown doll, cast onto the pavement, limbs sprawled in directions they shouldn't be. “Enz.” Roman said softly. His heart was punching into his ribs. 

Enzo had told Roman about his abuse. Beatings, scoldings. He knew how Enzo felt about violence. 

Roman saw Enzo jerk, subtle and bearly there in the darkness. A lingering habit. It made Roman sick, he felt like throwing up. “Enz, it’s me. It’s Roman.” He got closer. Enzo’s eyes were closed, squashed to chase away the hurt. Roman put his palm on Enzo’s shoulder, “Enzo I’m gonna sit you up, is that okay?” His hair was a mess, his face bloodied and slick, Roman’s sweatshirt was covered in blood. 

Enzo mumbled a confirmation. 

Roman jumped into action, hooking his arms under Enzo’s arms and hauling him over to the tree. Enzo groaned in his ear as he was dragged over. Once he was propped into sitting against the trunk Roman wanted to inspect the damage. But he didn't want to touch Enzo unless necessary. “Tell me what happened.” He said kneeling in front of him, in between his legs. Enzo’s eyes finally opened. 

“I’m sor-” 

“Don't. Tell me what happened.” 

Enzo’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed what Roman thought could be blood. His voice was a croak, all he could manage through the tears, “They came out of nowhere.” He fell forward, folding in on himself, his hand going to Roman’s chest. Enzo’s fingers bit into Roman’s t shirt as he sobbed. Roman wound his arms around Enzo. He shook, hot tears spilled onto Roman chest. Roman waited, eyes looking out across the parking lot. 

Roman knew what it was like. When the match inside you was striked, and suddenly the fire you’d worked so tirelessly to put out and suffocate was back, in full force. When you were thrown back twenty steps. When your life snapped back into perfect disaster. He knew the feeling. He knew what it was like to turn pale with irrational fear because someone offered him pain meds. Or after his physicals during track season, when he ended up curled over the toilet, trying to throw up the breakfast he’d failed to eat. He knew it. 

Enzo’s crying came to a slow stop. His fingers loosened. Roman didn't let go, Enzo didn’t show any signs of discomfort, so they stayed like that. Passing minutes. 

Finally Roman pulled back. Enzo’s eyes were puffy with either tears or swelling. “Can you walk?” 

Enzo nodded. 

Roman helped Enzo back to the car, as he coughed every once in awhile, or keeled over in pain. Roman had to wipe some blood off his cheek. After sluggish minutes Enzo was in the car, and his seat was set back. Roman practically jumped over the hood to get to the driver’s side. Then realized he didn't have his eyes and had to dig around in Enzo’s pockets. 

He got the car started with shaky hands and raced out of the parking lot. He turned towards town and hit the gas. The hospital. The hospital. His throat went dry with the thought. 

Enzo’s hand went to Roman’s wrist. “Y-you don't have to take me to the hospital.” 

“Enzo you need to you’re-” 

“No, I won't let you.” his voice sounded like a handful of pebbles being thrown against a wall, “One of us needs to be okay tonight.” 

Roman studied his face. His jaw was a carved line, his eyebrows were threaded together with pain, nose nose wasn’t buttoned anymore, it had been turned sharp by the moonlight. Roman stopped the car, took Enzo’s hand and felt for gentle beat of Enzo’s pulse. He found it, and along with that found the courage to turn around and drive home. Enzo hands went back to clutch at his stomach, and groans filled the car as Roman hastily sped around corners. 

When they pulled up Roman didn't even bother to park. Enzo’s was closest to the front door so he got out and made his slow accent to the porch. Roman could see his white knuckled grip on the railing as he pulled himself up the steps, Roman went to the back of the car to grab his first aid kit. 

There was crash. Roman almost jumped out of his skin, his gaze flying to the steps. Enzo had collapsed onto the wood. Roman fished out his things, slammed the trunk and went over to his friend. He had already started to pull himself up, but Roman looped his arm underneath Enzo’s armpit and brought him to the door. 

Once they were inside Roman made quick work of getting Enzo into the kitchen and onto the counter. After that Roman flicked on the lights and ordered Enzo to take his shirt off. He did, hissing through his teeth as his shoulders flexed to tug the neck of the hoodie. Roman helped, then tossed it to the floor. Roman worked in silence. Cleaning the blood, the cuts, checking the bruises. He wanted so desperately to tear Enzo’s mind apart for the details. Who did this and how many people? Why? Did they say anything? Did you see what they looked like? Jesus christ did they have baseball bat?

But he didn't. Instead he dabbed peroxide on one of the cuts on Enzo’s forehead. Enzo’s jaw was clenched so hard a vein bulged underneath the skin, wrinkles formed on the side of his eyes where they crushed closed. He would grunt every once in awhile but otherwise he was quiet. 

“Shit I can't see anything.” The kitchen was well lit but the angle wasn't right for Roman to see if there was any dirt left in one of the splits. “Do you have a flashlight?” 

Enzo waved a hand towards the living room, “yeah in my bag.” 

Roman went to the livingroom, and fetched the light. He made quick work of the cuts, and the blood. He saved the deepest one for last, so far nothing looked bad enough to need stitches and he kept his fingers crossed. 

Enzo hissed loudly when Roman touched a cloth to it. Roman hesitated a bit. They were so close, him standing between Enzo’s legs. Suddenly Enzo’s hand shot out to Roman’s shirt and gripped. Enzo’s eyes were closed but Roman felt a bit of heat bite at his cheeks. He cleaned the wound. When he was done Enzo’s hand regretfully loosened, and he let go. 

Roman was done. “Okay, you’re as clean as it’s gonna get.”

Enzo fished out his phone, and presumably turned on the camera. He held it out, fingers gently tracing the bandaid Roman had put on over the deepest wound. His face had already started to bruise, purple appearing under his eyes. Through it though, Enzo smiled. 

“What?” Roman said, still leaning on the counter between Enzo’s legs. 

Enzo put down the phone and forced a toothy grin, “Twinsies.” Surprisingly Roman smiled at that. Enzo’s eyes glittered in the warm kitchen light. He was swaying, still strung out from the attack. Suddenly they were inches apart, Enzo breathing loud in Roman ears, and he could feel the heat radiating from him. Roman’s hand was incredibly close to Enzo’s leg. 

No. He took a step back. “We should probably get ready for bed.”

Some of the light flooded from Enzo’s eyes. “Yeah,” he slid off the counter and made his slow way upstairs. Soon enough the shower knocked on. Roman finished cleaning up the kitchen. Putting the first aid kit back together, and cleaning up Enzo’s bloodied clothing.

This part always confused Roman. He’d carried this good sized kit around for a long time. Whipping it out when someone around him might need the stuff inside. It never bothered him. The antibacterial wipes, and creams, the band aids and butterfly closures. The gauze pads and bottle of peroxide. His body was a weird thing. He couldn't touch pill bottles, couldn't pass the threshold of a hospital. It made him sick. But this little pack of emergency health aid, didn't bother him. He liked it, knowing he was prepared to help. 

Roman finished in the kitchen and went upstairs. Enzo was still in the shower. Roman worried, he knew Enzo had been hurled back into his father’s grasp. He knew how your mind could linger there for hours if you let it. He knew people who had died in bathtubs, while he sat outside thinking they were just washing up. Roman knocked on the door. “You good?”

“Peachy.” Enzo shouted from the other side. 

He could breathe. 

Still he lingered outside the door, and the eventually gave into his heart. He sat next to it. In here the light was bright, the moon framed by the window at the end of the hall. Roman waited on the floor. While his head screamed sense, Enzo was okay, he didn’t need Roman babysitting him while he was in the shower. Perhaps neither of them was okay right now, perhaps they both just needed to breathe. That’s what he did. Dug his fingers into the floor and stared at the gaudy wallpaper on the other side. Home. Home, he thought. Safe, he thought.

The water cut off, Roman stood up. When Enzo opened the door steam floated around the room behind him, sneaking out of the bathroom and curling around the boys in a giant cloud. 

Enzo searched Roman’s face. He understood. They nodded at each other. 

That night they found their way back into the living room. Snacking on chips, and other junk food. Drinking warm milk Enzo happily microwaved. They watched the flames dance around in the fire Roman rebuilt. They curled on the couch, heads on opposite ends and legs haphazardly tangled together. They brought down Enzo’s big down comforter and covered themselves up in it. 

They fell asleep, warm, and surrounded by this big vast and secure house. Sharing in the breath, in the orange glow of fire, in the safety.

They slept


	6. Absences and Attacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman is starting to think this is something bigger than one mugging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heres the song https://youtu.be/naOzftxOKig

When he was younger Roman had liked his smile. His father had given it to him, that along with his size and nice shoulders. David Palayo had grown from the dust in his small Wyoming hometown. A bare and abandoned state. His hair was dirty blond and his smile was wide, the kind full of teeth and love. 

At fourteen Roman was unconstitutionally happy. He’d go to the bathroom and catch a glimpse of his smile, persistent and carved onto his face. He would admire it. It was the breed of smile that created premature wrinkles on the corner of your eyes. If anything, seeing it would make Roman grin more. One morning he walked out into the tiny Palayo kitchen and watched his brother swing his mother around in the space. Vincent had gotten her smile, and at that time it was nice to look at too. 

From his mother Roman had gotten his dark hair and his nose and his eyes. Elizabeth Palayo was tall-much like her husband. She was striking and sharp. She’d cut you with her eyerolls and spear you with her quick words and uncanny ability to know every lyric to every song. That morning Just What I Needed by The Cars was blaring through a chunky boombox she had dragged quiet noisily onto the counter and Roman’s eighteen year old brother was trying to not so gracefully perform an outdated dance move his mother had mastered years ago. She grinned at Vincent’s messy attempt of the dance and continued to cheer him on. 

Bacon was popping in the pan, pale sunlight was catching on all the bits of dust in the room. Grease made the vinyl kitchen tops shine, and Roman was still in his pajamas. 

But now Roman hated the forced smile he wore. He longed for the times he didn't have to queue it up, for a time his eyes matched his mouth. The times his heart believed his smile. He was sitting underneath a cloudy afternoon sky and in front of a boy that almost resembled his father. Jackson Sawyer was tall but lanky. His hair was a blond but stripped of most of its color and his arms were freakishly long. Though he still managed to be handsome. Roman had shown up late to school after his alarm had failed to wake him up since it was all the way in his room and he was all the way on the couch underneath a mountain of blankets and Enzo. 

If he tried hard enough he could still smell Enzo on him.

Jackson had been one of the few people to notice Enzo hadn’t shown today and he was in the middle of asking him why. “Where’s the other half?” he said jogging up to Roman, pale calves calling for attention below dark gym shorts

Roman stopped his stretching and looked up from the bright red track. “What?” The air had a dampness to it that kept his skin cool and his breath opache. Sawyer’s face was outlined in the faroff bluish green trees. Everything was filtered in turquoise.

“Abbot, where's Abbot?” Jackson clarified. Roman had known Jackson since junior year when he first joined the track team, he’d been far more compressed then. Enzo was the one to introduce Roman to him, they were still good friends but Roman and Enzo had just gotten closer. 

“Oh,” Roman leaned down to continue stretching, he liked how the track bit into his knees. “He stayed home.” 

Jackson’s voice rose a few octaves. He had the voice of a weather forecaster, “Why?” Clarkston had strict rules about missing school days, you had to have a medical exemption or a note from your parent or guardian to be excused from class. Jackson was well aware of Enzo’s relationship with his father-most of the school was-which led him to the immediate conclusion that Enzo was somehow not in good health. It was the right answer. 

Roman considered lying to Jackson. He didn't know if it was his truth to tell, he didn't know if it was secret meant to be kept. Was it even a secret? Enzo’s blood had left a stain on the pavement outside the main building for everyone to see. Roman had seen it when he got to school, it had stopped his breathing for a second, but he quickly remembered how Enzo’s gentle pulse had felt underneath his thumb that morning. “He, uh,” Roman scrubbed his face with a palm, “he got jumped last night.” 

“Really!” Jackson sounded more excited than surprised. This is why me and Enzo are closer, Roman selfishly thought. 

“Yeah,” 

“Where?” 

“Outside in front of the office.” 

Jackson kept pressing for details and Roman was slightly annoyed. Jackson was good hearted but he didn't quite understand the severity of the situation. When Enzo had finally dragged himself from under the covers that morning his sides were painted with a deep purple and his face looked like splatter art for all the colors of a bruise. Worst of all he could barely smile through his aches and pains. Roman had been baffled by how hard it had been to first coerce the details of last night out of Enzo and secondly to convince him to go to the hospital while Roman was at school. This was after Roman had mentioned internal bleeding and hemorrhage. 

“Who was it?” Jackson stood uselessly next to Roman on the track. 

“Don't know.” Roman moved on to hamstrings.

“Did they take anything?” 

“No.”

“How many were there?” 

“Three.” 

“Did they say anything?” 

“No.” Roman was beginning to tire of this conversation. 

Finally Jackson asked a question Roman couldn't answer. “Is he okay?” 

He considered the answer. Enzo had acted fine, maybe he was. Roman was both concerned about possible broken bones and possible broken brain connections. Truth was Roman had only seen Enzo triggered a few times, at a football game freshman year when a fight broke out between two classmates right in front of him, and sophomore year when Enzo was slammed into a locker by the pissed owner of a silly string covered car. Both of the altercations had left Enzo mostly sane and unmarked. But Roman couldn't let go of the feeling that Enzo was slipping somewhere he didn't want him going. He also couldn't help but feel like last night was the start of something bigger. 

There was no definite reason for last night's attack. Enzo had outgrown his naive pranks and hadn’t managed to piss anyone off in months. Roman felt a feeling of panic whenever he thought of all the cruel intentions that could be behind the jumping. 

This was something more. This is something worse. Sensibility screamed at him.

Luckily Roman was saved from having to answer Jackson because Coach yelled from the green football field, “Palayo!” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards to school, “The office wants you, somethin’ about attendance!” 

Roman nodded curtly and accepted the hand Jackson offered to help him up. Roman forced another smile at set off down the track.

-

The office smelt like blood orange and hand sanitizer. The front desk was a solid chunk of dark oak. Behind it sat two women. They were both typing away at their keyboards and peering through suspiciously low and narrow glasses. One of them had freakishly long fingernails and the other had a phone pinched between her shoulder blade and ear. Roman went to the one with the phone since Finger Nail Lady seemed intent on ignoring him, when he stepped up to her she held up and finger and flashed a smile. 

He waited. Immediately Roman noticed a girl sitting in one of the grey chairs off to the side. The waiting area was mostly hidden from view but he could she her and the cop standing in front of her. Roman’s ears strained to hear the conversation but failed to catch any of it. She looked quite shaken and her face had bandages covering some of it. 

What the hell? Roman thought. He recognized the girl, Alexis Cole, short with dark curly coils for hair. She was one of the two girls that attended Clarkston and the only girl on the soccer team. She was fierce and rough when it came to games and ended up covered head to toe with mud after every game. 

Because of that and her gender she was pretty much the closest Clarkston would come to a legend. 

The cop wrote something down in her notebook and then slipped out of the office. Roman watched her go to her cop car that was parked outside the school, when he looked back Alexis was staring at him. Her mouth was twisted in a cruel line and Roman felt her eyes tracing his bruises. Her look was accustory but she eventually looked away, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on her upper arm. 

“How can I help you?” An airy voice brought Roman back. 

“You called for me, Roman, Palayo.” Roman leaned against the counter adopting a kind smile and tone. 

Her voice reminded Roman of lemons, but not the sour aspect, the bright colors and blooming smell. “Oh! Um, you were counted absent for four of your morning periods today and we are going to need a note from a parent excusing you.” 

Roman’s smile dropped. “But i'm here for the rest of today.” 

Her face crinkled into an expression that lied poorly about her disappointment, “Sorry bud, but we can't accept absences for any class unless you have permission.” 

Roman didn't have parent to call, or get a note from. However he had a Vincent. That wasn't much better. 

“Your guardian is Vincent Palayo right?” 

Roman nodded.

“I can give him a call for you, if that would be better, his number is in the system.” She was clicking through her computer. 

“No, no.” Roman bit his lip, “I’ll give him a call,”

“Okay hun!”

Roman could feel the anger unfurling in his stomach as he moved to the waiting area. He chose the seat across from Alexis and sat down, mindfully taking a slow time to get to his contacts. He still had his bruises. He wondered what Vincent's face looked like now and liked what he came up with. 

Before he could regretfully call his brother someone interrupted him. It was Alexis. She had leaned forward and gotten her serious face in Roman’s line of sight. When he made eye contact she queued up her question immediately. 

“Who gave you those?” She jerked her chin to his ruined face. 

Roman twisted his mouth, he wasn't angry at her question just wanted to mirror her firm attitude. “My brother. Who gave you those?” 

She smiled a bit and leaned back. “Burglars,” she brought up a battered hand to admire her fingernails. Was that blood or dirt underneath them? “Though I don't know if it counts if they don't steal anything, just break in.” 

“What?” Roman asked, a bit baffled. 

Alexis’ eyes flicked back to Roman, now they watched his eyes. “You haven't heard?” 

“Heard what?” He was eager for the details. 

She offered them easily, “Was moving into my new dorm last night and three guys broke in and tried to beat the shit out of me, fought em’ off though. Left a few marks myself.” She grinned at her bruised knuckles again. 

Roman paused. He felt panic leech into his anger filled chest. “What dorm?”

She sounded a bit confused, “113, why?” 

He shook it off, suddenly realizing he’d shot forward in his seat to listen to her answer and his shoulders had bunched up. Trying to relax failed miserably. “Nothing.” That was Enzo’s old dorm. Enzo. Why would someone want to hurt Enzo? Suddenly the world zoomed into perfect clarity. This wasn’t just a group of hormonal teenagers looking for a kick. This was someone after Enzo. This was a tangled pile of hurt and cruelty hidden in a black seething mass. 

Roman dialed Vincent's number.


	7. Aww Rats!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title pretty much sums it up...sorry.

Enzo hated Roman.

And Enzo was always right. He’d been sitting in the sterile waiting room for hours. People had come and gone but he remained. It was like the universe was punishing him for not carrying a switchblade, or pepper spray. The seats were uncomfortable, the room was stuffy with the flu (thank god for vaccinations) his phone was dead, and he had a headache. 

Salt was poured in the little paper cuts this day had stuck on his skin when the doctor looked up from his ex rays and other tests and said in a cherry red voice, “Your fine.” 

To be short Enzo wanted to spit. Either in Roman’s face or Doctor Mrs-Your-Fine’s face. Both, both would be good. She ended up giving him pain meds which he took good care of stuffing in his backpack where even Roman’s wandering hands couldn't find, and sending him off the the shitty white honda that Roman had made him take. 

It puzzled Enzo, how Roman, someone who had been robbed so many times could keep on giving.

 

Enzo took the long way to the school. The roads were slick with rain. The windshield wipers beat away the fat drops, music lulled him to numbness and all he could think about was how the road curved up ahead. Or how Roman’s breath had felt on his cheeks. 

The light turned red. 

Enzo was surprised by how quickly he’d been able to chase way the feeling of helplessness last night. It had shocked him really. Waking up in the living room feeling nothing but still. If he could choose, that would be the moment he relived again and again. Watching Roman, eyes closed and his mouth set in a pleasant line. His charcoal hair a more wild mess than its usually tamed posture. As much as Enzo liked the softness of Roman, he lived for the electric sparks he sometimes failed to diffuse. If you smiled hard enough you might see him do it too, and for that Enzo made a promise to himself he’d smile more often. 

Growing up everything had been loud. Quick, flashy, bright, all screaming into the black stands of a crowd. Punk Rock and atrocious outfits, late nights spent sitting in a bus watching screaming fans from outside the windows. It had been exhausting, and sometimes draining. But it was Enzo’s nature to like wild things. He still did, but more often he found himself craving peace and quiet. 

Enzo pulled into the school, the parking lot questionably full he had to park in the back. Getting out of the car he was suddenly reminded of when he was 12. He gripped the keys in his palm and sank lower in Roman's borrowed hoodie. 

Patrick's tour bus had always been crowded by fans. It had been a stupid mistake. Really it was probably what he deserved, sneaking out at night. He’d thought it would be safe, but he had been wrong. 

 

The sky was a deep gray, and rain pulled a dusty and earthy sent from the ground. The school loomed in it’s cloak of ivy in front of him. Mindlessly he weaved through the cars. 

 

They had been a couple, and two boys. All dressed in black ripped clothing, the girl had on a pair of chunky heeled combat boots. They recognized him, then demanded he take them to his father’s trailer. Sense had told him to say no, so he did. The sky had been black, the hands had been rough, rougher than his father's. His scream had been piercing and they had all been drunk. The worst part of it was how he’d limped back, ashamed and battered. 

No the worst part had been how he had curled up outside of the bus, too scared to go in. How he had cried himself to sleep on the slick pavement. The next morning his father’s manager found him. Sam was always kind to Enzo, Enzo had always wished he was his father instead. He’d gotten in trouble for sleeping outside, and got slapped for sneaking out. His father hadn’t asked if he was okay, hadn’t check his wounds or acknowledged that he’d even been hurt. But Sam had come up to Enzo later, wielding an ice pack and a couple of bandaids. With a reassuring voice he’d asked him how he felt, and kept a close eye on him the next few days. 

 

Enzo made it safely to the curb. It was going to be a few minutes until Roman got out but he still made his way to the school. He tried to minimize the glances he sent over his shoulder, and tried to slow his breathing. 

He was fine. He was going to be okay. Right? Conjuring last night helped, he wasn’t outside his school, he wasn't standing on the same ground he’d been beaten on, he was at home. With everything he needed. Roman was there, smiling and the fire was bright and warm. He imagined the house surrounding him like a jacket, strangling any attempt of unease. 

He made it to the door and opened it quite hastily, and went in. He turned towards the parking lot again, his eyes skirting this way and that. Looking for any sign of danger that he could have managed to slip out of. Of course was nothing there. But the black feeling was still coursing through his veins. He cursed that feeling.. Enzo hated feeling like he had no power, that he could twist and wiggle but couldn't get out. He wanted to throw that very sensation to the floor. 

Collecting himself got easier as the seconds ticked by. Finally, he could see straight and turned around. The entrance of the school was an impressive thing. A large staircase sat off to the right, twisted and turning up. It was well lit and there was a thick carpet underneath his feet. To the left was the office, the two secretaries sitting behind their desk working the hours away. 

Enzo went up. His locker was kept on the top floor and he had forgotten his math books. Stuffing his hands into his pocket he quietly picked up the stairs. He was still hurting, though the pain meds had done much to help his discomfort, he still felt like a giant ball of aches. Every step up sent a little wave of pinching to his hips, and the effort it took to make it to the third floor had him breathing hard, which made the whole map of bruising across his ribs kick and scream. When the hallway did come into view Enzo considered collapsing on to the tan tiles and falling asleep. 

Just get your books, get Roman and you can go home and sleep. Repeating that thought was the only way he’d get to his locker. He wanted this all gone. The pain, the memory. He wanted to get rid of the feeling of vulnerability that had been forced upon him last night, it made him shiver every time he thought of laying on the pavement, or not being able to make it up his own porch steps. 

When he had left for clarkston, he’d promised he’d never feel like that again. But here he was.

Before he could make it to his locker there was a voice behind him. It wasn't hostile but it sent his blood racing. 

“Palayo did you shrink, or is that an imposter I see.”

It was female, which made it inherently easier to turn around. Enzo swallowed the bile that had started to rise in his throat. She was standing in the hall, wearing a more feminized version of the school uniform, which meant a skirt. But the first thing Enzo realized about her was her nose, long and curved outwards. She more than managed to make it look pretty on her. 

The girl smiled at Enzo and answered her own question. “Imposter.” The second thing Enzo realized was that she was tall, impressively, and she held herself like she knew it. “You know, if you want to dress up like Palayo you're gonna need more than his sweatshirt, especially if your a whole foot shorter than him,” She taunted walking towards him. 

“Three inches.” Enzo corrected. 

She got to him and yanked on the cord of the hoodie. It shrunk the size of the neck hole largely and Enzo was suddenly glad that he wasn't wearing the hood, because he wouldn’t be able to see right now. He also thanked Roman for tying little knots at the ends of the drawstring as to not pull the rope out all the way. “Why are you wearing it anyways? And who fucked your face up?”

Enzo eyed her, they were almost at eye level. “Because it’s cold. And Goblins.” he supposed both answers weren’t far from the truth though they were close to a lie. 

She pressed her lips together in a knowing gesture. “I like you.” She finally said and stuck her hand out. “Call me Ritter.” 

Enzo took it. Noting the cold feeling of metal from her many silvery rings and said, “Abbot, or Imposter whichever your tongue likes better.” 

Her grin grew. It wasn't like Roman’s warm gesture or Enzo loose and lopsided one, it was one that whispered it knew all your secrets. “So you doing anything tonight?” 

Enzo chuckled a bit, “I’m not interested in-” 

“I know, me either, but im having a party and by the looks of it, you could use some fun.” 

Enzo made and O shape with his mouth. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened or what she apparently knew but frankly he wasn't sure what he knew either. But her persinatant tone chased away any worry he had. 

“Sure,” he said. “When?” she’d taken him away, drawn his mind to other places and other subjects. Ones less muggy than he had previously been swimming in. And he loved it. 

“Seven thirty, call this number and i'll give you the details.” She handed him a shiny white business card and whirled away. Enzo looked at the card. It was a strange thing. 

It read: C. Ritter, Tattoo and Body Works INC.

Enzo marveled at the idea that a teenager could not only run a tattoo shop but run one that required business cards. Also one that required her carrying around cards for said business. It was a fleeting and delightful feeling. 

Though fleeting. 

When Enzo finally got to his locker he discovered it was jammed. Maybe in his haste to open it he had failed to notice the scratches on the outside. Or the somewhat sticky dial. When he did manage to open it there was a surprise waiting for him. 

In the form of a dead rat. It was hanging from the center hook, blood had matted it's brown fur, and it’s mouth was cracked open, to reveal long yellow teeth. 

Enzo was shaking. He wanted this to be over. But maybe it couldn't be. He did't want to go through this again. 

Slowly he reached in and plucked a note from the bottom of his locker. It was stained, red. 

“You’ve taken something that doesn't belong to you.”

Enzo’s mouth twisted. He felt like he was being flung towards a deep and endless pit. That if he gave into the feeling, if he acknowledged what was happening it would be real. This is the stuff you hear about, unsolved mysteries leaving the police and everybody else stumped as to how this person was killed. The question of "Who Done" It was one that never got answer in these stories. 

In these stories the body was almost never found. 

Enzo stuffed his math book in his backpack, tore the rat down from the hook in his locker and walked briskly to the nearest trash can. He cast the rat away, trying to hurl his worries and thoughts with it. 

He didnt feel better. His hand still had blood on it, and his veins were still full of black dread.


	8. We need to talk.

Vincent didn't answer him, and Roman didn't leave a voicemail. 

He managed to talk the secretary into giving him till tomorrow to sort out his note. Roman was beginning to regret not waking up, stalling to get ready for school just for that extra minutes of watching Enzo with his wild morning hair. He could get drunk on his wavy locks. 

Roman’s classes passed sluggishly. Everything the teachers said to him was empty and pointless with the new conclusion that last night was something big and menacing. Roman had quickly come to the understanding that it wasn't just one jumping, it was urgent and his legs tapped nervous rhythms underneath his desk while he waited for the clock the admit his freedom. 

When it finally did, Roman practically barreled out of the classroom, and was almost the first one down the the parking lot. It didn't help when neither his car nor Enzo was out front. It sent surges of unnecessary anxiety through his body as he searched the wide parking lot. After some searching he found him. For a split second all his worry melted away, but it snapped back in place as quickly as he had opened the passenger side door. 

Enzo was sitting inside, still wearing Roman's sweatshirt. His head was bowed and his finger’s thumbed a small piece of paper. 

Roman sank down in his seat, pulling on a more composed exterior. He cleared his throat and said, “We need to talk about last night.” 

Enzo’s posture didn’t change, but Roman saw the corners of his mouth point into a frown. It made Roman’s mouth tug down too, and it was agony. Enzo seemed to be only thinking of the note in his hands, but Roman’s mind was swimming with possibility. He kept coming back to the same conclusion: someone is going to kill him. Think him crazy, but Roman had seen far more unexpected deaths to not think that. 

“Alexis Cole was attacked moving into your old dorm last night.” He said it factually, but his worry was an unleashed monster tearing down all the walls of his composure. He wanted a reaction from Enzo, he wanted to see that Roman wasn't the only one sick with worry. But he just numbly stared at the note in his hands. Was this how Vincent felt? 

Roman started again, “Enzo, you can't-”

Enzo’s head snapped up and he cut in, “Just stop. I’m sick of the same fucking thing over and over again. Please can we just go home?" The words lashed at Roman he could feel them stinging still. All he wanted to do was help to keep Enzo safe and Enzo seemed intent on ignoring the problem. Roman knew he couldn't fix it, it wasn't his problem, but he wanted to make Enzo fix it.

“No,” Roman said back, not being able to keep his emotion schooled, “No Enzo. This is serious, someone is attacking you.” Roman struggled to form the words, his mouth was faltering. When he finally managed they made his stomach churn. "Your gonna get killed!” his anger was red hot and Enzo’s eye were hotter. 

“Don't you think I know that!” Enzo hissed back. Roman had never seen him like this, stripped bare. He was raw and untamed, a deer in headlights thrashing in the only way he knew how.  
Roman said the only thing he could think of, his last desperate attempt to try and get Enzo back in his mind. 

“Your not acting like it.” 

Roman had been grabbing at nothing, and therefore he reached nothing. Instead Enzo wrenched open the car door. He took his backpack, tossed the keys onto his now empty seat and walked away, slamming the door. Roman could only stare at the keys. Where Enzo went he didn't know, all he knew was that he had a fat wad a guilt convulsing underneath his skin. 

He was truly wrong in his actions and he knew it. He should have accepted what Enzo wanted. Should have sealed his lips and let Enzo drive them home. But instead he’d flipped. He pushed to hard. Enzo didn't need to be pushed. After all it was Enzo who had gotten jumped, not Roman. 

But if Roman lost Enzo, that would be then end of him too. If Roman lost Enzo, it would be like his parents all over again. It would be another person robbing him of his family, his happiness, joy. 

Was Enzo walking away from Roman the same thing? 

Would that hurt as much as Enzo dying?

Roman had let his parent’s die, he wouldn't let Enzo die too.


	9. Velvet Couches and Cheaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enzo wants to ignore it all. Forget what happened and what might happen. And kissing seems like a good distraction, that is until someone shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs:   
> https://youtu.be/ilsv0C1-aBw  
> https://youtu.be/RDuzszjrdcc

The room was filled with bodies, and purple light. Enzo stood in the middle of it. Sweat dripping off his long hair, veins full of cheap soda and pain meds. The persistent howl of music drowned out his thoughts. The flash of neon lights chased away the memories of countless beatings.  
The feeling of flesh against flesh, and body against body numbed the sensation of Roman’s pleading eyes. Enzo was drunk on Ritter’s party. It was as if a temporary curtain had been put up while he embraced the celebration, one that stopped him from seeing the knife held to his throat. The room pulsed, the lights dashed across bare skin and Enzo couldn't stop. Bodies crammed together, all trying to get a taste of the night, drinking in the easy relief this drunken act gave.

He couldn't hurt, not here. Not now. If he didnt think about his home, Roman, or his happiness it was like he couldn’t lose it. If only he could live in that blissful moment forever. If only he could replay that second his mind had no recall on how helpless Enzo actually was. If only. The music swelled, the room was filled with the familiar electric energy Enzo had grown up with. This was his childhood, before he something to lose. 

But you can only dance for so long. 

After an hour and a half, Enzo started to exhaust his energy reserve. His shoulders ached, is head  
hurt from the thrashing and he was thirsty. Enzo had never been to a party like Ritter’s. Most of the people were from other schools, and most of them far more enthusiastic about the nightlife than Clarkston kids. It was an easy distraction. He figured, if this had worked for five years of his shitty youth, then why wouldn't it work now.  
Enzo stumbled out of the crowd and into the white kitchen. In the dim glow everything was a bit blurry. Making his way over to the drinks Enzo felt his brain slip from the high. The past two days poured back into his mind, like a dam giving out. All that time, underneath the lights, thinking nothing but what song was the best to lose yourself too, was gone the second Enzo breached the doorway. 

He filled a cup full of Ginger Ale, lifted it to his mouth and chugged the entire thing. This act was repeated multiple times. Finally Enzo’s stomach felt like it was going to make it’s protest seen and he stopped. The music was loud and enticing but he no longer had the energy to dance anymore. Instead he waded through the pulsing crowd and found a low couch to plop down on. Nursing his cup of soda he watched the crowd, hypnotized by their erratic rhythm and steady drum of music. 

But it wasn’t enough. Soon the half naked bodies turned into abstract fists, and the gimmor of sequins became the glint of moonlight off metal. Enzo felt helpless. 

This had never worked. 

His thigh went warm. A horrible feeling rose in his throat as he turned to look at the hand on his leg. It was small and pale, outlined in his dark jeans. He couldn’t help but notice how close it was to his crotch. When he looked up Enzo met the eye’s of a girl. Making eye contact did little to ease the tension pulling throughout his body but she didn't seem to notice. Instead she smiled and leaned precariously close to Enzo. Her breath was coated with liquor. “What’s your name?” 

Enzo swallowed, then said, “Enzo, Abbott.” 

She giggled, drunk and excited, “I saw you out there. Is everything you do so…” she trailed off in favor of touching her lips to Enzo’s ear, to punctuate the action she bit it. It was a questioning gesture. Enzo turned his face and kissed her. It lasted far longer than a peck on the lips and Enzo’s hands stayed clasped around his cup as his lips went along with the girl’s mechanical rhythm. Her tongue tasted like beer, and barbeque chips. Enzo welcomed the way making out seemed to make the world a bit smaller. At times all he could think about was the heat of the room around him, and others he could only feel the weight of a cup in his hands and how close it felt to a dead rat. 

Still, the danger demanded to be known. And soon the kissing had lost its effect on his unleashed thoughts and along with it, it’s sliver of appeal. Suddenly her mouth was cold. And her honey flavored chapstick made him sick. Enzo pushed her away, he’d changed his mind. The girl looked offended, and figuring she could coax him into more kissing she leaned forward and attempted at another one. Enzo was on his feet immediately, panic on his heels. The days were a dark shadow following his every thought. He gulped down his soda and went back into the crowd. 

Enzo had thought he needed peace and quiet to get over this, but loud music and shouting voices was the only way he could drown out the sounds of his screaming thoughts. Sense pleaded for the authorities, but Enzo didn't want to give into the feeling of desperation. The music was pounding and the voices were suffocating but he couldn't help but wonder, what did I take? Every time he did there was a jolt of panic that almost knocked him off his feet. Every time he thought it he would dance a little harder and yell a bit more.

He tried his best to leave his problems behind, but you couldn't abandon something that lay ahead of you. 

This had never worked, and Enzo knew it.

 

-

 

Enzo was outside. Sitting on Ritter’s backdoor steps. Fat drops of rain pattered on the roof, and tapped on the metal sheets the made of the top of a shed. The world was coated in darkness around him, his thumb rubbed a smooth spot on the notebook paper in his hand. The handwriting was crooked and jagged, male. The prospect of someone coming for him seemed ridiculous but truth was dripped in the black ink sprawled across the paper. 

Away from his father Enzo had grown immensely. Now instead of the bastard son of Patrick Abbott he’d become Enzo. Now instead of a sterile and bleached Nevada home, he had a welcoming and warm one he’d earned. He had Roman as a friend. He had all this, which meant more to lose. It was an oppressive thought, to think he could lose it all. To think he could become the small and damaged person his father had pounded him into. He could feel himself slipping. 

The back door opened. Enzo turned, slipping the note back into his pocket. It was Ritter, purple grey, black and white thread braided into her long hair. She frowned at him. She had the kind of face that got prettier the more you looked at it. “What's wrong Imposter?” 

Enzo looked back to the dark yard. He couldn't tell how big it was in this light but he figured it was large considering the size of the house. “Nothing,”  
He heard Ritter scoff. Heels clicked on the concrete steps as she made her way over to him and sat down. The air was filled with a vanilla scent and Enzo could feel the humidity coming off of her in waves. Ritter curled her knees up to her chest and rested her cheek on them to stare at Enzo with watchful eyes. Enzo choose to look at his hands as he mutilated a pinecone he’d found on the ground. He was still covered with bruises, and his shoulders ached with the effort from tonight. 

Today had been excessively long. Too long. He longed to curl up on the couch with Roman again. He longed for the heat of the fire, he longed for a time when the world felt less like a thief, and Roman’s words didn't feel like a death sentence. He felt the familiar panic writhing around in his stomach, the devastating feeling that he could do nothing but sit by and watch as his world was burned. 

“You’re a liar, and a shitty one at that Enzo.” Ritter picked up a leaf from the ground and twirled it around in her fingers. 

Enzo didn't reply. Instead he flung the remaining bits of the pinecone into the far edges of the yard, watching it arc over green grass a rose bushes before disappearing into the darkness. He could imagine a man waiting in the shadows there, stretching his hand up and catching the bit of ruined pinecone. Taking it from him. Finally Enzo spoke, “Why are you going to Clarkston?” 

“Because it’s better than juvie.” 

Enzo shot her a look. Her smile remained pasted to her face, and surprisingly stayed there as she told him her encounter with the law. Her voice wasn’t passionate, like most of the other’s when they repeated their own stories, throats and tongue coated with anger at their own mistakes, but her was soft and almost affectionate.  
“The summer before sophomore year, my Grandma past away. At first it was just like it hadn't happened but as time slipped by I began to notice that she was actually gone, and has school started again I suddenly felt alone, and unsuccessful in my life. Not that I had anything exceptional to accomplish, but it was almost like I had become a machine, never doing anything worthy. Going to school, coming home, working, and church, that was my life. 

One day I was outside watering when my neighbor, his name was something like Greg or George, pulled up in his 1968 Shelby Mustang, it was a plum. He got out and waved at me, but the second he slipped inside his house it was almost as if I had been possessed, you see my grandma used to tell me stories about her life, and they were the most amazing things I could ever hope to hear. I fell in love with her because of what she had done, she traveled and met people, she jumped off cliffs and lived out of a van for five years down in utah. 

She’d owned snakes and camels, hiked across europe and kayaked across states, hitchhiked and found herself living in the middle of nowhere, working in a diner where she met her biker husband, and when I saw that car, it was like she was telling me what to do. So I dropped the water can I’d been holding and marched over to Greg-George's house and stole the car. 

I only made it a couple of miles before state police caught me, but when they did I it was like I couldn't be afraid anymore, I knew I was going to be wading through a shit ton of trouble but I didnt care,” She smiled now, a laugh escaping her lips, “And the best part was, my grandmother always claimed that Billie Jole’s You May Be Right was her song, and when the police dragged me out of the car and handcuffed me, Billie Joe was screaming the lyrics, and I suddenly didn't feel as desperate.” A tear finally made it’s weary path down Ritter’s cheek, dragging a bit of dark makeup with it. But she didn't look sad, she looked alive. 

“But why did you do it? How did you know it would make you feel better?” 

Her smiled grew as she thought about it. “The only way to cure desperation is progress, and the  
only way to create progress, is action.”

“But your grandmother was still dead, you stealing the car had nothing to do with the fact that she was gone.” 

She flicked a finger at Enzo, “Ah, but you see it did. Instead of living without her, I was living for  
her. I felt like a had a purpose again,” Enzo watched her as she scanned his eyes. It made sense, it all did, weirdly. She smiled again when she saw he understood and turned to look out at the yard. 

A few seconds later Ritter went to say something but the door behind them opened, neon light, and loud music pouring out into the night. 

“Christine, someone’s here, says he’s looking for an Enzo, Abode, or Abbott.” The last part was said with a question mark.

“Who is it?” Ritter was on her feet, Enzo close on her heels.

“No clue, but you better come quick he’s pretty worked up.”

-

Enzo followed Ritter through the crowded house. 

He hung back though, letting Ritter charge into the situation. The boy who had notified them of the problem in the first place lead them around the mob of dancers and past the snack table, head bobbing in the lights. Finally Ritter shouldered past the last wall of bodies and into the large foyer. Enzo blinked. He’d never seen the man, he was medium height and had on a white tank top. His eyes were sunken in and his mouth was open in an unheard growl as he jabbed a finger into the face of one of Ritter’s friends. Pit Bull, was all Enzo could think of. 

Ritter didn't even hesitate just pushed the man the Pit was currently harassing aside. Enzo krept  
closer, straining to hear the conversation. Thankfully the music that had been bouncing around the room quieted and a new song came on. Enzo recognised the low bass of Seven Nation Army, and felt his blood surge a bit. 

“What the fuck is going on Stuart?” Ritter said crossing her arms. 

Stuart’s eye were gleaming in the light, his pupils blown and his tank top damp with sweat. He was breathing hard and looked ready to tear Ritter’s throat out with his bear hands. “Some bitch fucked with my girl.” 

“Your girl?” Ritter scoffed, holding her ground against his writhing figure, “Who knew girls would go for such a sweaty mess.” Stuart gritted his teeth, and Enzo could feel them grind against his bones. Apparently Enzo had chosen the wrong girl to use as a distraction.“Why are you even here? Last time I checked you weren't allowed at my parties.” 

Spit flew out of his mouth as he hissed, “Well Marina was, and seeing she’s dating me, I was invited. Didn't know she was gonna let some fag shove his tongue down her throat.” 

Enzo couldn't help himself, not anymore. Quickly he slipped out of the crowd, “Actually, she shoved her tongue down my throat.” The pit bull’s eyes flicked over to him, and Enzo’s was only fueled by the sparks he saw raging in them, “You sure you're the top? Because after that I seriously doubt it.” Most of what he said was a lie, but it didn't matter. 

Stuart flung himself at Enzo. 

Enzo was gone in and instant, not even bothering to see if Ritter was okay after falling to the floor from the impact. He did his best to tear through the people and around the crowds. Stuart was nipping at his heels, having more trouble getting through the crowd than narrow Enzo did. “I’m gonna kill you Abbott!” Stuart shouted into the night air. 

Surprisingly Enzo laughed, loudly. It was a cackle as he bulldozed through the crowd, from what he had just been through even if Staurt did catch him, it was an empty promise. His heart was beating, beating, beating. His blood was hot and nothing mattered except getting out. He felt alive, and the grin chiseled into his mouth was more than authentic. Finally a path parted into the far hallway, Enzo belted for it, gripping the door jab to fling himself down the hall. The far room hung open and dark. Enzo broke the doorway and quickly made a scan of the room. It was too dark to see much, but he could make out the window. 

When he turned around, Stuart was throwing himself against the corridor wall, his feet were slipping on the wood and he struggled to start again. Though soon his massive body was barreling towards Enzo, murder written on his face. The window opened faster than you could say “cheater” and Enzo was climbing out. He tumbled out on the mulch below and then onto the soft grass. 

But Stuart didn't waste a beat. He was jumping out of the window before Enzo could even stand. And then Enzo was running again, shouts echoing after him as he dug his heels into the damp ground. Stuart was so close he could feel the boys breath on his neck. He went to the road, trying to find a way to lose this guy, if he didn't he’d get another round of bruises and Enzo didn't think he had enough pain meds for that.

But Enzo couldn't find a way out. A car’s open door halted his escape and sent Stuart on him like hound. Enzo’s shirt collar was hooked with a finger and he was whipped back. Then Stuart’s hands were wrapped around his neck and his breath was in his face. 

Fear gripped at Enzo. Entangling him in its dark shadows. Stuart went to say something, but before he could grind it out, he too was ripped back. Enzo collapsed into himself, clutching his throat, and trying to slow his now panicking heart. 

Hadn’t it just been last night when he’d been in a similar situation? Almost beaten to a pulp on empty pavement. But Enzo would learn, this time was different.

When he looked up, Roman was between him and Stuart. Enzo took in the taught line of Roman’s shoulders and his white knuckled grip on Stuarts chin. Roman was holding it so tight Enzo could see a dip in the boy’s flesh. And Stuart’s head was cocked awkwardly so he would meet Roman’s eyes. Now he looked like a puppy, one, who had just peed on the floor. 

Enzo had never heard Roman so angry. It wasn't necessarily the volume that made his voice so fierce, but the underlying tone of murder in it, “Go.” Stuart whimpered, and when Roman let him go he belted towards what could be his car. 

Enzo had no thoughts. They were all polluted with Roman’s angry tone and the figure of his hands gripped around Stuart’s throat. Roman didn't turn around, he just dropped his head and sucked in deep soothing breaths. Enzo found himself relaxing a bit more with each breath he counted. Enzo’s eyes traced Roman, he couldn't stop them. His mind was mangled and distraught, he could barely form a sentence even if he wanted to. 

“Rome.” Enzo finally said after a few minutes, his hand mindlessly going to touch Roman’s shoulder. It tensed under his feather light fingers and Enzo held back a hiss. 

When Roman finally turned to look at Enzo it wasn't much of a relief. His brows here draw so tightly together Enzo worried there might be permanent wrinkles. Roman spoke and all of the venom had been leached out, it was just ruin left. “We need to talk.”


	10. Family Worth Loosing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've got some things to talk about, but they never manage to do that.

Roman was confused. 

He was confused by either Enzo’s eyes on him or the stuffy feeling of the car as they sat inside it. Breath fogging the windows to opaque walls. When had their friendship morphed into something else, when had Enzo’s face gotten so sharp in the half light? And when had Roman forgotten to notice they way they had changed throughout the years?

He’d blinked, and small light a begun to grow between their joined hands. And then he’d blinked again and a slimy blackness was beginning to seep through their veins, tainting the tender glow. 

They had both agreed they need to talk about things, but so far they’d just fiddled inside the car. The only sound the ticking of the engine as it cooled. Roman could feel the chill seep into through the disintegrating door seals. 

Roman was thumbing through the list of topics they needed to cover in his head. 

1: Last night.

2: Everything.

Both of those were big topics and did little to ease the doubt making itself homey in the pit of Roman’s stomach. The list seemed to suggested that last night was something else than everything. That that night held itself separate from the rest of the moment’s in Enzo and Roman’s friendship; or whatever you’d like to call it. And it seemed to be. All at once it was an ending, and a beginning. 

Shame coated Roman’s throat and an apology was queue on his tongue. He just needed to guts to say it. 

Enzo spoke first. “Thank you.” is was soft, and gentle. The words barely forming before they, slipped, of his tongue like a kiss. His words didn't hang like they were asking a reply of Roman. They never did. 

“I’m sorry.” Roman said anyways. He watched Enzo swallow and dip his head to look at his hands by way of acknowledgement. The car filled with silence again. Roman waited for the words to form, for his heart to still. He listened to the soft patter of rain on dying leaves and felt his wrist for a slowing pulse. Then Enzo shifted, and Roman’s mind snapped back into place. 

“Here,” Enzo was reaching into his backpack, Roman heard as rattle as Enzo fished through it. Finally he drew out a small piece of paper. Enzo gently flicked it onto the dash between them, mouth pensive and eyes flighty. Roman realized then that Enzo was just as unsure as Roman. He reached across, and plucked it from the shadowy surface, aware of Enzo’s eyes on him. Wordlessly, he unfolded the thick parchment, he could barely make out the words in the shadowy car and when he did they robbed him of breath and thought. 

You took something that doesn't belong to you.

The first thing that filtered back into his brain was: Enzo is not a thief. 

Shakily, “What does this mean?” Roman could sense his blood start to course through his body. The handwriting was jagged and slanted, hate in physical form. 

Enzo shook his head, he was rubbing circles in his palm, switching fingers every once in awhile. “It was in my locker this afternoon, I think someone broke in.” he paused, eyes tracing the outline of the paper, “and they left a dead rat in there too. That’s where the stain came from.” 

Roman suddenly notice the red around the edges, and smears across the clean white surface. Every second he stared at the letters was the worse than the last. He just kept imagining himself, Enzo-less, old  
and withered, living his days in the shadow of a brother he couldn't stand, and missing the life he almost had. What was happening. 

 

“Rome, stop making that face.” Enzo said suddenly reaching over to take the note back. Roman silently handed it over. 

“What face?” 

“The one that says i'm gonna die.” 

But he was. Roman had known too many people that shouldn't have died, but did anyways. He’d known what it looked like when someone was going to be taken from you, he could feel it in the air. Like the world was beating it’s drum to the last of their heartbeats. Or singing to the last sounds of their roaring blood. Enzo reminded him so much of his mother. Like a loud clap of thunder he brought you to your feet and sparked wonder in your mind. He dared you to think bigger, better, happier. He was a wink and a grin of white teeth, a crackle of fireworks in the air and the taste of sulfur on your tongue. And for boring Roman, that meant everything, he made him feel alive. 

The world would die the second Enzo’s heart stopped. Roman willed it never to happen. 

Roman’s phone let out a single, accusatory sound.

Vincent: Hey, sry i missed your call was busy all day. How is Enzo fairing, is he ok? 

All the air inside the car was sucked out with the sharp breath Roman took. It tore him apart from end to end. And just like that, a match was struck, and the hate Roman had tried so hard to forget, to leave  
behind with his brother, was burning burning burning a hole right through his chest. 

I think you need to leave.  
No.  
No? Why?  
Family worth keeping. 

Vincent wanted something. Enzo stood in his way. And in a way Roman had known all along that Vicnet would strike him down eventually. In his brother’s eyes Roman could have nothing, not a family, not a friend, not a life. It all revolved around him, and now that Enzo was in the picture, Vincent would cut him out in one of two ways. Making Roman hate him as much as he did his brother, or killing him. How would Vincent have known about Enzo getting jumped if he didn't order it himself? Roman handt told him, and Enzo most definitely didn't. Jumping him was step one. The dead rat and the note, the second. Who knew what it would escalate too.

Roman got out of car. He was crying, crying because he was remembering the pain, and feeling so helpless against it. It hit him in waves. His hand went to rub the salt from his eyes as he scuffed his way across the gravel driveway. Cold night air enveloped him like a jacket. Maybe he wasn't meant to love people, maybe that was already giving too much. But Roman had been too focused on not taking too much that somewhere along the way he’d forgotten to not give too much. 

Maybe he was fated to lose everyone. 

But then again, Enzo was walking across the yard, and he was reaching out to turn Roman around. Enzo’s hands went to Roman’s head, and as he brought their head together Roman felt fear writhe around in his stomach. His breath was hot on Roman wet cheeks. “You will not lose me.” It was a promise Roman didn't need to ask for. It was given. Roman closed his eyes. “We’ll figure this out. Okay?” Enzo’s fingers tightened. A bird called a lonesome wail up above. And Enzo was still breathing, that’s all that mattered. Slowly Roman brought his hand to Enzo’s , and his fingers wandered up underneath the cuffs of his sweatshirt. Enzo’s pulse was there. Irregular, but strong and present underneath his thin skin. 

Vincent said that Enzo took Roman from him, but what he did not understand was that Roman had given himself to Enzo. Enzo was not a taker like his brother. Vincent did this, all of this, Roman thought as  
he traced the outline of Enzo’s bruises with a gentle finger. He can’t use him to get to me.  
Another tear made its weary path down his cheek. He was thinking about how bad this was going to hurt. Roman had to learn to let people go. Roman had to learn to live without Enzo. Enzo was worth keeping, but Roman couldn’t keep him if it meant he’d die, or worse, get hurt. He was worth letting go. 

And with four words Roman carved his heart from his chest, “I need some space.”


	11. Cinnamon Rolls and Tennis Racquets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinnamon Rolls?

“Show me what you're made of Abbott!” Ritter was screaming now. “Come on!!!” Her voice carried over the tennis courts and echoed off the bricked school. 

Enzo threw the fluffy green ball in the air and slammed the racquet into it, sending it arching over the net and hurtling past Ritter, narrowly missing her own racquet. “Shit, i'm sorry.” he said as the ball bounced away.  
Ritter turned sharply and pointed her weapon at him, “Fucking shut it, that was better.” She jogged off to collect it. Enzo went to get his water. They’d been slamming tennis balls at each other for over an hour now and Enzo felt like his arms were going to fall off. The bruises Enzo wore were better now, less fussy than a few days ago and his muscles did not scream in protest every time he moved, thanks to rest and pain meds. His poor tennis skills hadn’t improved whatsoever, and Ritter and him couldn’t build a rhythm to help flood his brain with other thoughts. He kept remembering the feeling of Roman’s forehead pressed to his, or his breath on his lips. Inches apart. They burned him. There was no relief for this fiery sensation that took over him when Roman’s eyes raked over him. Passing in the hall Enzo couldn’t help but find Roman’s wide shoulders and black hair in the mess of bodies. 

But playing with Ritter helped. Directing his need to move, or touch, into less destructive actions. What prompted the need for space was a mystery to him. Roman remained watchful, but distant. Like now, his was on the track just to the right of the tennis courts. Running laps, eyes darting to Enzo every once in awhile. Though Enzo did his best not to look at him, he could feel when his eyes flit over to him. 

Distant, but watchful. 

That was the worst part. Knowing that Roman still cared, but not enough to want. Enzo felt alone, the house felt empty, and the fireplace had been cold for nights now. He was abandoned to figure this out himself. Was he still in danger? Should he be hold up in his room, waiting for his attacker to bore? Shoulder he buy pepper spray, or ask Ritter to teach him how to throw punches instead of tennis balls. 

Ritter returned with the ball in hand. Enzo half expected her to send it over for him to smash somewhere else it didn't belong, but instead she pocketed it. “I think we’ll call it a day.” Enzo nodded and made his way around the other side of the court. She took his racquet and stuffed it inside her backpack, “You got a ride home, or do you want me to drop you off?” 

Enzo looked to the track, Roman was still running. He always was wasn’t he. “I think I need a ride.” 

Ritter pursed her lips. She scanned Enzo’s eyes for something, “What’s wrong Bug?” 

“Bug?” He said, fixing the blond with a dissatisfied look.

“It’s what my brother calls me,” She waved it off, “but that’s not the point. What happened with you and Palayo?” 

“Nothing.” Enzo toed at a crack in the green pavement. The school liked to claim these courts were new but they had splits running down the lengths of them and grass had pushed itself between cracks. 

“Abbott,” She let out a large sigh, “I already told you you’re a bad liar.” She started walking towards the gate. The metal screamed in protest as it swung open. Ritter turned and eyed Enzo, who waited behind. Her eyes narrowed, she relaxed in a questioning posture. Enzo pulled his head off, wafts of his sweaty waves unleashed to wreak havoc on his eyes. He pushed them back, in favor of pulling his rubber headband taught and sling shooting it at the blond. She didn't even blink, just reached up and hooked it with a finger. 

“You know what I want right now?” She said stuffing it into her back pocket. “Cinnamon rolls.” She turned and let the gate scream close. Apparently that meant she was taking Enzo into town, to gather baking supplies for his empty cupboards. Enzo didn't really care, just followed her through the store as she collected large amounts of flour and sugar. 

“Do you even know how to make Cinnamon Rolls?” Enzo finally asked when Ritter stopped in the kitchen supplies section of the supermarket. She just sat there and rubbed her lip with a thumb, occasionally reaching out to examine something. “And shouldn't you tell your parents that your not coming home?” 

Ritter smiled. She flung a purple spatula into the basket hooked in her elbow, “I don't live with my parents, and yes I do know how to make cinnamon rolls.” 

Enzo wondered why she hadn't chose to make premade cinnamon rolls. Maybe she favored her own kind. “Who do you live with?” 

“My brother Chris.” Now she was reaching up to grab and pair of foiled tins to put the pastries in. “He’s the tattoo artist. He also taught me how to bake, and hot wire cars.” she add the last part with a wink. Her teeth flashed white. She collected the rest of their things and swiped a silvery card at the register. They made their way across the parking lot and tossed the plastic bags into her army green Range Rover. Enzo directed them down the narrowing leaf littered roads and when she pulled into the gravel driveway Ritter said, “Jesus you live far out.” 

“It’s only fifteen minutes,” Enzo responded. 

“Yeah, but it feels farther away.” Enzo didn't feel like unpacking what that meant and just left it there. Ritter made quick work of getting out of the cold, and then dumping the haul onto the counters. She started tearing opening the packages and ordering Enzo about. Asking for bowls that Enzo had to dig around in the cupboards for and non-stick spray he didn't have. “Jesus there is nothing in this house!” Christine exclaimed rifling through the fridge for butter. “I swear, boys left alone are heathens.” Her words were a bit muffled from behind the refrigerator door, but Enzo made them out from his perch on the counter. “What do you even eat!” 

Enzo strummed a cord on his guitar, “Thai. Mexican. Oh and pizza.” 

Ritter poked her head above the white door and schooled her smile into one that mirrored  
disappointment. Her expression relaxed as her thoughts drifted. Finally her eyes flit back to the fridge. “Ah Ha!” Triumphantly she thrusted a stick on margin into the air, “This will do.”  
By the time they finally popped the pan of rolls into the heated oven Enzo had begun to playing renditions of early 90’s pop music, and Ritter sat on the other side of counter slipping on the tea she’d made and trying to guess what he was playing. To be fair Enzo wasn't that good, but Ritter’s unexplainable talent of knowing exactly what he was playing evened the game out. 

“You never told me what happened between you and Palayo.” She finally interrupted, lifting the string on her tea bag.

Enzo twisted his mouth into a wrinkly line, and watched the checkerboard tiles. This was the exact place he’d been sitting when Roman stitched him back up, when they almost closed the distance. That night seemed so far away now. The warmth of the fire and Roman’s body next to his on the couch nonexistent in the space he’d carved between them. 

“I don't know.” It was part of the truth. There was so much Enzo didn't understand. Like what he was supposed to do. How he was supposed to give Roman space without him drifting too far away. This week had been a smack to the face, and a blow to his surety. He found himself clinging to his home even more, resting only in the fact that even if he couldn't have Roman, he would have a home. 

Ritter waited patiently for him to say it. 

“I-I,” Enzo let his gitar swing between his legs, “I got jumped, and-and now he needs space.” the words were sputtering out of him uncontrollably. “I-”

“Wait.” Ritter held a hand out, “You got jumped? When?” 

“Sunday.” 

“Shit, Enzo, did you tell the police?” This is what Enzo didn't want, nagging. He wanted to ball up in his bed and sleep the pain away. 

“No.” He stood up, using checking on the cinnamon rolls as an excuse to get away from Ritter’s prying eyes.

“Why?” her voice turned unbearably soft.

Enzo waited a beat. It had never really crossed his mind. And apparently it had never occured to Roman either, since he would have brought it up. Or maybe it did occur and him was just too flustered to say it. “Because,” he struggled to find a solid reason other than, I’m scared. “Because if the school finds out, they wont let me live here.” And this is all I have now. 

This is the only place he felt safe anymore. Where untainted memories of Roman and him rested. Where his room wasn't a place he’d been sent to be punished, where he could rome where he wanted without fear of being attack. It was quiet here, and warm, and safe, and his. 

Ritter took a deep breath. And maybe it was because Enzo couldn’t manage to keep his emotions from bleeding into his expression that she didn't push anything more. Warmly, “It’ll get better, and if not, something good will come of it anyways.” 

But would it? Would Enzo die like Roman kept saying. Was he going to be stripped of everything? 

She slid off the counter, “I have to pee.” 

 

They’re bruises faded. 

Enzo’s clung to him like a second sink. Persistent and striving to remain. But Roman’s marks proved forgiving and melt off his skin in the day that past. Enzo stopped taking his pain meds and dumped the  
rest down the toilet. 

Roman remained far away, and Enzo kept talking to Ritter. 

It was nice to have a distraction sometimes. But he found himself needing to be home more and more often. The world seemed to hang around him, whispering lies about his fate. Those bushes on the corner hid a burly man with a pipe. That car parked on the street held a group of teens waiting to pounce on him. And his father was going to burst through the classroom doors any minute now. 

But Enzo couldn't help but notice when Roman drove them to school in the mornings, how his eyes always traced the lines of his bruises. How he frequently checked in on him at lunches, asking how he was fairing. 

Or how Roman couldn't see to tear his attention away either. 

Roman didn't want space, Enzo knew it, he'd convinced himself he needed it. 

 

Roman begun to run himself ragged. 

On the track it was one thing. Pacing himself to run lap after lap, until his lungs burned and his legs gave out. But with Enzo it was another. He wanted to reach out, to touch. He wanted to be by his side to make sure he wasn't going to be hurt anymore. But Roman just had to trust his brother would get the message, look you can't manipulate this, hurting Enzo will get you nothing.

But his dreams became shallow. He’d see Enzo, red hair blazing in the summer sun, curled into Roman in the mess of blankets. Or he’d see blood, his hands coated in it. His teeth stained, his voice hoarse from screaming, and Enzo lying cold in the bathtub. Vincent snickering behind him. 

Enzo made no effort to push Roman away. Which made it harder to stay distant. But nothing happened in the days that past. No more dead rats, no more attacks-to them or anyone on campus- and no more notes. Roman found comfort in the fact, but still it grew harder to not reach out. It had been so natural that not spending so much time together felt like a hot iron down Roman’s throat. 

“Why?” Enzo said one night. Roman was sitting on his bed, trying to school his brain into working on his math homework. He was standing in the doorway. A strange thing since Enzo had been sure to respect Roman’s boundaries. “Why do you need space?”

Roman a deep breath, the house smelled pleasantly like pastries. And Enzo had a bit of flour smeared above his eyebrow. It was a valid question, Roman admitted. Especially since Enzo wasn’t prying for closeness. “It was Vincent.” he said quietly, picking at his pencil. 

Enzo shifted in the doorway. He made no effort to tearing his weight gaze away, those eyes made Roman’s heart lurch. But he held back. “What was?” Enzo already knew the answer and Roman didn't know why he asked. 

“He asked about you, the other day. I never told him about the attack.” There was no other way Roman could think his brother would find out about it. “He probably thinks that it’s gonna make me run to him.” Roman dropped the pencil. It was all too much, the way Enzo looked at him, the text message he’d yet to open, the nagging fear that he still wasn't doing enough to keep his friend safe. But what more could Roman do? Kiss Enzo? That would just make it harder to let him go. “If he thinks you don't mean anything to me... then he won't try to hurt you to to hurt me.” 

Enzo face went sorrowful. He took a step forward, then stopped, then turned and went to his room. Roman flinched at the sound of his slamming door, and felt loss wash over him. 

It was all going away.


	12. Slashed Wallpaper

Enzo ran his hand over the walls. As he walked through the wide hallway he couldn't help but feel the beat of warmth stir in his chest. Fluttering to life when he gazed out the stained glass window to the serene backyard. Everything was asleep in the fall morning. His mouth was kissed with a calm expression, his eyes wandered indulgently. The ancient doors with their whimsical shaped locks, and the glass door handles. The pure and slightly chipped white over everything. The simple yet intricate designs of the crown molding and richly colored floorboards.

Home. 

His bones rattled at the word. His own perfect eden. But it was almost nothing special. It was a house, tucked away in the shallow wood next to a small boutique town and choked by ivy and age. He knew that not everybody would watch his home with such admiration. But when he looked at the bare living room all he could see was a fire in the mantle, and two boys tangled together on the couch. In the hall he saw himself opening the bathroom door, Roman, waiting on the other side for him. Or in his room, his frameless mattress sat on the floor, it was him, stretched and sweaty, only waking from a dream where he pressed his lips to Roman’s warm eyelids. 

This house was filled with pleasant memories. Only a few weeks of the living here at it was stuffed to the brim of early mornings and late nights. 

But now, it was gone. 

The house sat still, as Enzo went about his endeavors it breathed its last breath. It was chilly now. Leaves painted the woods orange, yellow, brown. The evergreens kept the far off mountains green and blue, but down in the valley the world slowly turned. And as the days passed the memories shrank. Became seeds of hope in Enzo chest, and then withered. They weren't enough. He wanted something tangible. Something he could hold in his hands, or watch unfold in front of him. 

Roman called to him. From the main level, “you getting a ride?” 

Enzo snapped out of his dream and made his way downstairs. The front door was open, Roman was leaning on it. Backpack slung over his shoulder and keys jingling in his hand. “Yeah, you coming home  
tonight or are you gonna go on a run?” He made his way over to the door, and outside. 

Roman waited until the door was closed and locked before answering. His mouth was a hard line, his brows seem glued together. “I think i'm gonna stay somewhere tonight.” 

Enzo’s heart fell to his feet. He turned around and thundered down the stairs. A sigh was heard from the porch as Roman let his head hang. “Look, Enz.” His voice was distant, Enzo was busy pulling on the passenger side door, trying to get it to open. Trying to get away. Thinking maybe it would hide him from the fact that Roman was leaving him. “I don't know what else to do. Tell me what else I can do that wont get you hurt.” 

The hand Enzo had wrapped around the door handle softened. Roman thought he had this whole thing figured out, that he only had one choice. Enzo didn't know how to say it. “I don't care if i get hurt Roman, i just, i just-” his words failed him. He pressed his forehead against the slightly damp, and chilly surface of the car. 

The stair creaked, the gravel scuffed. Enzo could smell Roman, standing next to him. Every inch of his skin sparked at his touch. Roman took Enzo’s hand. Enzo let out a hushed breath. A key was pressed into his palm. It was the copy of Enzo’s own house key, the one he’d given to Roman. When he looked up Roman’s eyes glistened.

“I can't stay here if it means i'm hurting you.” He let Enzo’s hand go and with that slipped into the car. 

Enzo’s head returned to the car, and he begged it to bite away the rest of his memories of Roman and him. And at the same time, he prayed for more. 

_

School passed. Uneventful and insubstantial in Enzo’s mind. Except during fourth period when he found himself in the bathroom, wiping tears from his eyes and splashing his face with cold water. A lousy attempt to decrease the puffiness of his cheeks. 

“Does anyone know of the myth of Persephone and Hades?” Peters had asked when Enzo felt his composure finally snap. The thin thread of it that had kept him stable for most of the day finally breaking inside his chest. 

Shaikly, he raised his hand. His voice echoed off the walls of his skull, and his feet took him to the bathroom. Where his body was racked with silent sobbs. He prayed no one come in, and prayed that the tears welling from some hidden place inside him to stop. If he closed his eyes tight enough he could imagine his home. Warm, gently pulsing with and energy Enzo couldn't place. He longed for it now, to be wrapped in the comfort of it and Roman. 

But Roman was leaving. Soon he’d give in enough and pack his bag forever, hoping on the next flight to california, to his brother’s waiting claws. Enzo could see the plane tickets, or the text message on his phone.  
Roman’s last goodbye. 

God how he wanted to be home. 

He hitched a ride from Ritter. Asking her to drop him off at the corner so he could walk the rest of the way home. Give his mind room the breathe. Days muddied together. Fists turned into dancing bodies and and branches turned into hallowed pipes. 

The gravel driveway was much longer on foot. And the sky was darkening above him. Birds cawed, in panic and warning. Flying from their perches on the tree tops and sweeping through the lonely sky. 

Enzo heard the car too late. It came whipping around the far corner, and tore down the drive. Enzo barely had time to dive into the crabgrass, narrowly avoiding the cars black bumper. He ducked, rolling onto his shoulder. Knocking the wind from his chest. 

When he finally looked up, the car was truing away from the driveway, and down the road. Away. Enzo let out a premature sign of relief, and let his head hang in relief. His blood thundered in his ears and adrenaline swam thickly in his veins. 

The house. 

What were they doing here? Enzo got up, quickly. And dug his heels into the ground as he broke  
out in a run. His thoughts screamed, like the crows over roadkill. Each claiming their own damage on his sanity. But the sight of his home took the cake. Nothing. Tire tracks showing the haste of their escape, and and an open door leaving marks like omens on Enzo’s mind.  
Enzo dropped his bag. Abandoning it on the road and prowling towards the house. Each second worst than the previous, each thought of what he would be left with when he finally looked inside tightening his fists. He wanted to scream, to cry, to shout, the punch, to kill. To hold on. The measly bits of stability he’d managed to scrape up were burning to the ground right in front of him.  
With a sweaty palm he pushed open the door. 

Everything was trashed. It was a punch to the stomach. The couches upturned, bookshelves knocked over, wallpaper slashed to bits. That was the tip of the iceberg. In the kitchen dishes had been thrown onto the floor and silverware cast across the counter. His room might be worse. Who knew. 

All Enzo knew was everything was ruined. Tainted. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to remember what it felt like before this. When he was Enzo, and not Enzo Abbott son of retired rock star Patrick Abbott. When he was still still sitting next to Roman, strumming away and humming as Roman watched him with his warm brown eyes. But he couldn't. All he could see was the blood, the bruises, the glint of metal in moonlight and the pink flesh of his father’s fist. 

The house was cold, and dark, and nothing without what Enzo and Roman had made it.  
Enzo fell to the floor. Crumpling onto himself. If the tears weren’t enough, his phone was ringing. Bleary eyed he brought it up to his ear, not realizing that it was a blocked number. Or that he was too shaken to say anything. 

Enzo’s blood froze in his veins. The words that drove a knife between Roman and him were being hissed into his ear. “You’ve taken something that doesn't belong to you Abbott. Return it or you won't be the only thing ruined by the end of the week.” 

“Fuck you.” he grit out before hanging up. 

His keys dug into his palm. 

Roman’s attempt at keeping Enzo safe had failed. They'd been targeted again. But Enzo couldn’t help but feel hope flutter around in his chest.


	13. Promises Worth Keeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are ruined yet again and bedrooms are trashed.

Jackson’s house was a mess. Jackson’s house being where he lived with his adoptive brother. Not that it was dirty, or cluttered, just there were a bunch of beefy football players crowding the limited square footage. Two of them currently had each other in head locks, taking turns smashing each other into the wall. Roman wasn't quite sure what they were doing but it didn't look anything like wrestling. Tolvstad, one of the starting quarterbacks was observing with a pensive look. Jackson was stood behind him with a excessive gleeful expression. Roman wasn't sure if they were going to smash a hole through the drywall or not so he just took a seat on one of the broken couches and watched from distance. 

Sawyer, who had just noticed Roman’s reserve from the fighting turned to him and said, “Want in?” He slapped Roman’s shoulder with the back of his hand. Roman shook his head in favor of answering. 

Connor Tolvstad, took this opportunity to pipe in. “Hey, with those shoulders why are you in track. Don't you have to be skinny for that shit?” 

“Yeah, I manage.” Roman said turning back to the two football players. They had scuffled over, a few more steps and they would be toppled over Roman. The five were in the basement, walls and floors covered in a gaudy green carpet. Low ceilings accounted for the poor lighting along with the one light source being a shitty Ikea lamp. “You gonna make sure they don't kill each other?” Roman pointed to the mess of limbs and black and red jerseys in front of him. 

Tolvstad clapped his hands by response, “Alright boys, that’s enough. If mom has to come down here she won't hesitate to whoop your asses.” It didn't seem like much of a serious threat but the roughhousing ceased. The short stumpy one held up a triumphant fist, the taller one -nicknamed Skinny- smacked it out of the air. They were tomato faced and a bit sweaty.  
Roman brought his feet up on the couch and laid back. Closing his eyes he tried imagining himself living here. He missed the quiet serenity of Enzo’s company. Here he felt like he needed to entertain, or belong. With Enzo he felt strangely like a puzzle piece, clicking into place to create and tranquil picture. 

“WHO THE HELL PUT A FUCKING PUDDING CUP IN THE DISHWASHER!” a voice shouted from the upstairs. 

Roman cracked an eye open. Jackson and the two others were looking at each other accusingly. Tolvstad, who’d already figured it out, stormed over and hooked the shorter one with a hand. “Ricardo I swear.” He growled hauling him upstairs. 

When they reached the top of the stairs the voice carried on. “All the dishes are covered in chocolate, would you like to explain? Hmm?” 

“Sorry?” There was a dull slapping sound, probably Connor knocking Ricardo on the head. “I mean, I have no clue.” 

“WHY THE FUCK DID YOU PUT A PUDDING CUP IN THE FUCKING DISHWASHER?” 

Roman’s phone was ringing. He tired to ignore it but the persistent vibrating in his pang pocket was uncomfortable. Sitting up to reach it, Roman took his phone out. Half expecting it to be Vincent, or the school harassing him about the note. It was Enzo. His name clear and bright on the screen. Roman felt the silent battle going on inside him. Warring sides arguing their point. Sense, and wanting burning the towers of his control down to ashes. 

“Hello?” Roman said. 

“Rome.” Enzo said it like it was the beginning and end to his worry. 

“Enzo.” Roman was suddenly aware of the remaining people in the room. Jackson and Skinny had moved to a heated game of pool, but their bickering wasn’t near loud enough to drown out Roman’s conversation. “You okay?” Roman asked because he could hear the answer in Enzo’s voice. 

“Someone broke in.” 

Roman shot straight up. “What?” At his alarmed tone the two eavesdroppers turned to him. Questions written on their faces. Roman was already packing his backpack, ripping his phone charger from the nearby wall and collecting his school work off the floor. 

“Please, just come home.” Roman felt a sharp pain in his throat as he swallowed his fear.

“Yeah, I’m headed back right now. You okay? What happened?” Roman held a hand up in goodbye at the bewildered boys watching him leave. He took the stairs up, phone still pressed to his cheek, blood turning colder every second Enzo remained silent. 

“Where you going?” Tolvstad's mom said when he crossed the kitchen, lowering her tone to a friendly one and lowering a scolding finger from Ricardo’s face. 

“Emergency at home.” Roman answered leaving no time for them to catch him as he slipped out the door. “Enz? You there?”

“Yeah, just come home.” 

Roman fumbled with his keys. By the time he got them into the lock and the door open, Enzo had hung up, leaving an empty pit hanging in Roman's chest. One that quickly filled with a combination of emotions as he pulled out of the neighborhood. Guilt, for giving in so easily. Enzo had beckoned, and Roman was running to him again, without care of what promise he’d made to himself. Panic for what condition Roman would find his friend in when he arrived. And anger. It was the biggest, the brightest. It filled him like a hot coal and wiggled around like fuel to a fire. 

He could stop himself. Lasso his emotions and hold them back. But he wanted to lash out, to murder, to scream, to draw blood. His hand gripped tighter and tighter on the steering wheel. The skin around his knuckles went white, his nails bit into the rubber. 

He dialed Vincent's number. “If you want to come here and bash my head in, so be it. If you want to take me back home, or want to steal me away and force me to join your stupid cartel then by all means do so. But I swear, if you so much as breathe Enzo’s name to somebody else I will personally come down there and turn you into the cops myself. Or better yet, kill you.” Roman hung up, then chucked his phone into the back seat, hoping it would crack. “Fuck you.” Roman could barely see the road. All he could see was his parents. Before she died, while Roman sat by her bedside, hands clasped together, tears pouring down his cheeks as he watched his mother slip into her final sleep, she leaned in, and with her last breath said, “Find something that you’re sure of. And hold on. And if the rest of the world doesn't make sense, you can look to it. Do that, and nothing seems so hopeless anymore.” 

Vincent ripped all of that way. 

Roman flicked the tears away and drove home. When he pulled into the driveway he took the corners a little to fast. And when he saw Enzo, sitting on the porch alone, he didn't even bother to park. 

He didn't know how his lungs found the air to speak, “What happened? Are you okay?”

Enzo’s head shot up at his voice. He nodded. And Roman felt his heart give out a little. The front door was hanging open, crooked on its broken hinges. Enzo stood up, taking a step towards Roman. They met at the porch, Roman going to feel at Enzo’s pulse. Enzo going to swallow Roman with his gaze. 

Hungry. 

This isn’t okay. 

Roman let go. He went to the front door, pausing at the entrance. Not wanting to breach to doorway and truly let himself see the damage. Enzo spoke softly and slowly behind him, “They were just pulling out when I got here. And the house was like this, then I got a phone call. They said something about taking something, and ruining me.” He said it with clear detachment, the only thing keeping talking. Roman pushed the door open. 

The house had been transformed. Couches belly up, lamps and decor smashed on the ground, rocks through a window or two, wallpaper torn from its place. 

Roman felt realization wash over him like a bad drug. It wasn't enough. If he was going to keep Enzo safe he needed to move out. Or worse, move away. To another town, city, country. Sickness enveloped him, choked his airways. 

He was gritting his teeth by the time Enzo spoke up again. “I know what you’re thinking.” 

Roman allowed himself to turn around. Enzo’s eyes were dead on him, red with recent tears. He said it with growing ferocity, “You think that you can stop this, fix it. You are determined to deny Vincent what he wants because you know it will hurt you to give that much, but you are too dumb to realize that by distancing yourself you’re causing just as much pain.” He punctuated the last bit with a turn. Enzo went to sit back on the porch. 

Roman wallowed in his choices. Enzo sliced a clean cut through his body, leaving him wounded, but almost more understanding. 

This hadn't worked. But Roman had two choices. He could run farther away or plant his feet and truly keep his brother from taking more. Roman had been giving this whole time to someone he didn't want to give to. 

“Enz.” Roman went back outside. 

“Don't,” Enzo held up a hand. “Just, don't.” 

Roman was torn in half. He paused by the steps, deciding whether or not to listen to Enzo’s orders. Finally, he went to him. Joining Enzo on the stairs he reached over and took his hand. Skin sliding against skin as Romans finger traveled to find Enzo’s pulse once agian. When they looked at each other Enzo’s cheeks were slightly pink. 

“I'm sorry.” Roman said, going back to watch his fingers against Enzo’s wrist. “I’m sorry.” It felt good to say that. 

Enzo finally cracked. Roman heard his voice faltering as he said the words, “I just feel like i'm losing everything.” he shook his head, sniffling a bit, “It just feels like at the end of this i'm going to be left with nothing. And I don't want to feel that way.” Enzo turned away, trying to hide his tears. They were flowing feeling now, but not aggressively like when he’d been attacked. They didn't wrack his body, or rattle his chest, they just welled up and out. It was a losers cry. When defeat finally took over. 

Roman didn't know why he said it. “You won't lose me.” 

Enzo turned back to Roman, expression filled with anger. “What about when you run away to your brother, I can see you thinking about it.” he grew louder with each syllable, “or when you leave me here, to do this on my own. When you abandon me like everybody else has.” 

“You. Won't. loose. Me.” Roman reached out and took Enzo’s cheek in his palm. It was warm, and wet. He saw hope flicker back into Enzo’s gaze. 

Then softly, Enzo spoke. “Promise.” 

Roman kissed him. They made up for the seconds, the minutes the hours spent apart. The breath not taken together or the touches they never made. Roman’s heart ran circles around it self, and his lips were buzzing by the time Enzo broke it. 

He felt suddenly sure, about everything around him. 

Enzo watched him, his breath dancing lines across Roman’s skin. Roman thought he’d never been this out of breath as he was now. Enzo kissed him again, and Roman felt warmth spark where Enzo’s hands clasped around his head, where their legs were touching, where their lips made contact. Heat, bright flares flashing on the edges of his vision, and inside his chest. 

They were like flint and stone. 

Enzo was the first to stand, Roman not far behind. They went inside, winding through the broken furniture and up the stairs. Enzo visibly shrank when they got to his room and saw his bed frame cracked and his mattress sitting lopsided on itself. Roman didn't waste a beat, just yanked the mattress off the frame and onto the floor before locking Enzo into another kiss and pushing him on to the mattress.


	14. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pIgZ7gMze7A

If someone asked him Enzo what his best memory of life of the road was, he would say the sky. 

He can't remember where it was. Or when. But he knows what it was. He was lying down in a random field. Grass tickling the back of his calves and sweat pooling on the nape of his neck. The heat of their location had burnt off all the clouds. leaving nothing but clear blue. There was no texture to it, no shadows, no imperfection. Just, blue. He reached up, cupping his hands around his eyes, blocking his peripheral vision so all he could see was the sky. When he did, he felt endless. Like his body was the sky. He wasn't Enzo, or a boy. He was just, there. An odd empty sensation washing over him.   
In a world filled with worry and hate and cruelty, to feel empty felt good. The closest he could come to describing it was nirvana. An end to suffering. Like he could float away. Like he could stare up at the universe and feel nothing but joy. His heart lurched every time he blinked, every time his mind was filled with nothing but pure color. How his breath came easy and deep. How his mind no longer wandered. How he craved to be in that field, under that sky, for the rest of his life. 

That’s how he felt when he woke up. It was slow, his eyes opening so drowsily that he didn't realize that he was up until light from the window was peaking into his room. Then he felt warm. Roman underneath him, chest rising slowly, his hands resting somewhere near Enzo’s back. Enzo couldn't help himself from smiling. Listlessly he trailed his fingers across Roman’s bare chest. Tracing circles lines, hearts into his faultless skin. 

That changed when he jogged downstairs. The house was still a mess.

Enzo felt his heart sink a little. Felt his smile slip. It was just another reminder that this could fall apart, that there was always going to be and end. But now asnt the time to think about that, with Roman making coffee in the kitchen and the sounds of Wham! floating out from his phone. “Enzo,” Roman shouted from the other room, Enzo liked the way his name sounded on Roman’s lips, “You almost ready, we're gonna be late.” 

Enzo tore his eyes away. Willing his feet to take him to the kitchen. Roman was reaching up to grab a mug, his back curving pleasantly under his sweatshirt. Enzo admired it, at first from a distance, then from beside Roman. He reached out, letting his fingers wander underneath the hem and up to Roman's stomach. Scratching sparks all the way up. For the most part Roman ignored it continuing to pour himself a cup of coffee, but Enzo couldn't help but notice how his lips curled up at the edges and his eyelids fluttered a bit every time Enzo pressed his palms flush to his skin. Enzo grabbed the edges of the hem and tugged up. 

“Woah,” Roman said putting the coffee cup down and gently pulling his sweatshirt from Enzo’s fingers. “We have school. No time.” 

Enzo smiled wickedly, “Flattering. I just want to wear it.” He tugged a bit on the hem again. 

Roman pulled it off and handed it over in a wad. Enzo put it on. He pulled it over his head, Roman’s scent enveloping him like it had this morning. He turned to go to the living room, where he’d abandoned his shoes last night. 

His stomach twisted into a gruesome knot. This was the blackness, this was what Enzo feared. Were him and Roman going to turn out like this house too. Ruined. Maybe they could hold on, maybe they could keep this up. Maybe their attacker would melt away. 

“Enzo.” Roman said softly behind Enzo. He watched him with brown eyes and a concerned mouth. Enzo let himself sink into the sweatshirt a bit more. It was warm from Roman’s body heat. 

“What should we do?” He waved a hand across all of it. They’d hadn’t cleaned up, and Enzo was pretty sure the door wouldn't close fully. What was the point, the people who broke in in the first place obviously wouldn't be stopped by a lock. 

Roman’s eyes flicked over the damage. Wheels turned inside his head. Ideas, solutions, answers all being processed at once. They came back to Enzo. “Nothing.” He came over, taking the collar of the sweatshirt in his hand, “Were gonna go to school, and then we're gonna go into town and get ice cream from the shop, and then we're gonna go to the football game.” He leaned in, his breath hot on Enzo’s cheek, eyes closed lightly, “And when we come home, we're gonna build a fire, flip that couch over and make out on it.” 

Enzo could already see it. He could already taste the blue on Roman’s lips. He could already feel the sky unfurling inside him. There were clouds ahead, but maybe they could weather them. 

 

 

Enzo woke up singing Wham!

It was a mundane thing, but Roman found warmth bleeding through his chest as he dressed for school. He could hear him from his room. Enzo was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, belting Wake Me Up Before You Go-go, and Roman couldn't help but smile. Later he found himself humming it. 

But worry lingered inside him. It was nagging thought that he wish he could bat away. When he stepped into the living room that morning, his heart sank. It was still a mess, of course they hadn't cleaned up. Part of him had thought it might all be a dream, that Enzo had never been attacked that they were still okay. If last night had been so good, why was this morning so bad. His mouth went dry at the sight of their ruined home.

They could put it back together, yes, but could it ever be as much of a sanctuary as it had once  
been? 

His thoughts were confirmed when Enzo was finally ready for school. He bounced down the stairs and out of the door wearing a track sweatshirt he’d robbed Roman of and a lazy smile. Roman stayed behind to lock it. When Roman turned around Enzo was leaning against the car, a sly look across his face. “You have a hickey.” 

Roman rubbed the spot at the base of his neck. “Yeah, I noticed.” 

Enzo snickered. Roman went to the drivers side. 

Throughout the school day Roman thought of the porch, and Enzo’s room. And the staircase they stumbled up last night, desperate to keep their lips together and get upstairs. They’d already started piecing the house back together. Roman wrote Enzo initials on his notebooks paper, then smudged it away with a finger. It left a dark smear of lead across white. 

“Roman Palayo.” 

Roman’s head shot up, startled from his daydream. Mrs Jones was looking at him hesitantly, like he’d done something wrong. 

“Yes?” Roman replied, dropping his pencil.

Something felt off, crooked, in her eventual smile. “Someone’s here for you.” She directed a dark hand to the classroom door. Roman hesitated, glued to his seat. Something bad was waiting for him on the other side of the door. 

It took a herculean amount of effort to get up and walk to the door. A storm churned in him as he caught movement on the other side of the privacy glass. Black. He pushed the door open. It was Vincent, standing tense on the other side. He looked up when Roman came out into the hall, immediately going to a defensive stance. 

He started talking frantically when Roman turned back around. “Just, will, you listen to me.” he caught Roman’s shoulder.   
Roman pushed him off. Anger sparked bright and hot in his chest, he tried his best to swallow it   
but his heart was hammering inside him. Demanding him to lash out. Roman moved from under his brother grasp and reached for the door handle. Vincent swatted it away moving to stand between him and the door. 

Roman didn't know how he held himself back. It'd be so easy to choke him right now. All the peace he’d felt earlier washed away in the few seconds Vincent tried to catch his attention. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Roman said. He turned to storm off. 

Apparently Vincent had a death wish, because he caught to his brother and whipped him around with a tight grasp of his forearm. “Listen to me.” he ground out, his eyebrows drawing into a sharp line. 

“Why are you here,” Roman growled back. 

Vincent's eyes fluttered closed, he let out a long tight breath. “When my brother calls me, hysterical, frantic, threatening to kill me, i'm gonna think something’s wrong, no?” 

Roman remained hostile, though his brother was obviously trying his best to be civil. “If you're so worried then why didn't you call?” It was a toasting phrase, meant to poke holes in his brother's composure. 

Vincent just flicked him with a knowing look, “could you honestly tell me you’d pick up? No. So here I am. Tell me what happened.” 

All the air was sucked from the room. “Don't play that game with me. You fucking know what happened.” Roman once again turned to leave. His brother mean nothing now, he was a liar, a thief, He was a black hole in Roman’s life. One Roman didn't want, or need. 

But Vincent held him steadfast. Knuckles white with the effort to keep his brother. “No. Tell, me, what, happened.” 

Roman almost spit in his brother face. “You know goddamn well what you did. Now, let, me fucking go.” Thought he was quiet Roman punched the words at his brother, leaning in to get in his face. Hate, hurt radiated off Roman in waves. 

He watched his brother’s face blank, then harden into a scowl. Vincent searched his brother’s eyes for something anything. And when he found it Vincent was no longer scowling. “Y-you think i did this didn't you.” Vincent let go of his brother. 

Roman wanted to dart away, but his brother almost genuine reaction stilled him. 

“You really do think i’m a monster.” Vincent looked at his feet. 

Something cold struck Roman. “Why are you here? Can you bully me from Cali?” 

“I didn't do this.” Vincent was defensive now. His voice rising to match Roman earlier heat. 

His voice bounced off the walls and down the hall. Once he started he couldn't stop, “Then why did you know about it Vincent! Huh? How else would you have known to text me, to ask if my friend was okay! You knew what happened, you knew and you acted like you sign have a hand init. But i know you did, because guess what Vincent, you manipulate people, you take, and you take! Maybe that’s why mom and dad are dead, maybe that’s why I don't talk to you! Maybe that’s why you’re stuck in your stupid drug ring dealing coke to junkies! Did you ever think of that?” After finished Vincent just watch him, and Roman was left with blood pounding through his ears. It was deafening. 

Surprisingly, Vincent replied calmly. “I know that Enzo got jumped. I know that something happened last night. But it didn't do it.” 

“Then how do you know, because I most certainly did not tell you.” Roman balled his hands into fists. 

Slowly, vicnet reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. He turned it on and scrolled through a few of his messages. “I paid someone to keep an eye on you. I think his name’s Jack. He stayed close to you guys, well as close as possible, and let me know if anything was happening.” Vincent turned to phone so Roman could see, and all his breath was sucked from his lungs. 

He coaxed them into functioning again. “W-” he wasn't ready to talk yet, instead he clapped his mouth shut and started at his brother. Vincent's eyes were soft, pleading. He was just a broken as Roman, more so. For the first time in a long time Roman realized that his brother wanted the same thing he did, family. To belong. 

“I'm trying to leave Cali. Shipments have started getting blocked, the FBI has started sniffing around. On top of that the boss says some drama has begun down south. I want to get away Roman I do. I'm trying. Im almost there. But I was worried that it’d backfire, you can't just wash your hands of this shit, I thought maybe they'd try and come after you. That's why I wanted you to move away. If they cant find you they cant hurt you.” 

Roman didn't want to hear it. It made his stomach churn, but he made himself listen. 

“That’s why I had him keep an eye on you. That’s why i'm here. I'm trying to keep you safe.” 

Everything was shifting inside Roman’s mind. But he didn't have to think about what his brother was saying, someone was coming down the hall. 

It was the principal, and two states cops trailing close behind. Vincent looked over his shoulder, when he did his breath audibly caught. “Shit.” he said under his breath. 

They passed them, but Roman kept watching. His heart swimming in the pit of his stomach, his mind racing with possibility. They went to the classroom a few doors down, the Principal opened the door and motioned for the cops to enter. She cast a heated look at the two boys in the hall, a warning to stay back. It only fueled Roman’s need to keep watching more. 

The cops were only gone a few seconds. There was rustling inside the classroom. They were using their firm cop voices. 

Enzo came out in cuffs. 

Roman’s jaw fell open. Instinctively he lunged forward, Vincent caught him again, and kept him still. Enzo caught eyes with Roman. He was pale, and breathing hard. His eyes were blown wide with panic. He was a dear in headlights. The cops were rifling through his backpack. Muttering to themselves. Roman felt tears prick his eyes and protests rise up inside him. Enzo was scared, scared, scared.

The cops pulled out a packet of white substance. 

Roman’s heart stopped. 

Enzo didn't even look at the cops that were listing off questions. Hey yanked on his cuffs. He was trying to get to Roman. He shouldered one of the cops out of the way, but the other caught him and violently pulled him back. “Rome, it’s not mine. Roman! Roman! Please!” 

The cops turned him around, but Enzo thrashed against their hold. 

“Roman, i swear it’s not mine!” He was crying, sobbing. But screaming through his own tears. The cops slammed him against the wall. Enzo ignored it, nothing else mattered except trying to get through to Roman. “Please I swear. I won't do this to you. Roman!”

Roman felt his stomach flip. His legs went slack. He did the only thing he knew. 

He ran. 

Tears poured out of him. He raced down the stairs and out of the building. He barely made it to the bushes before he threw up. Heaving his breakfast out onto the ground along with the shattered pieces of his heart. He shook with sobs. 

Enzo.

Enzo.

He’d done the exact same thing his brother had. 

Roman didn't know what he had left.


	15. Waiting, Waiting, CRASH!

Enzo felt the thunder that cracked outside the window in his bones. It was the only thing he felt. He was raw bare, exhausted. He didn't notice when Orman came to sit in front of him, he didn't remember calling him, or being seated in the sterile and bare questioning room.

His cuffs clacked together. Thunder rolled outside, covering the police building in clouds and drenching it in rain and lighting. 

“You're not eighteen yet, so I doubt you’ll get detention or probation. But then again what they found in your bag is pretty hard stuff.” Orman nattered off. Enzo wasn't listening, he didn't care. All he wanted was Roman. He wanted to kiss him again, he wanted him to keep him promise. But he wasn't sure if what had happened today would have pushed Roman too far away to keep it.

“It’s not mine.” Enzo finally muttered, looking down at his fingers. 

Orman leaned across the table, “I know. There’s another problem.” 

“What?” 

“Technically the police can't keep you in custody for more than six hours, but they might try and keep you here is there isnt an adult to release you to.” 

Enzo let his brain process it for a second. His heart kicked up at the thought of his father flying down to Clarkston, “Wait, you don't mean?” 

Orman nodded. “I’ll try and work it out with the officers but, just know that you might have to spend the night here.” At that Orman stood and left the room, door banging in his wake. Enzo felt his body return to its original state. There was something humming inside his chest. It was the memory, glorious memories. Roman’s hands following every line of him like a road map to paradise. A ceiling of blankets, a wall of heat. Early morning light massaging the frown from Roman’s mouth. 

It was all to much. 

The tears were surprising. They were gentle and claimed his mind. Enzo would give anything, the blood from his veins, the smile from his face. His home, for another taste of Roman’s lips. 

If Roman wouldn't take, than he couldn't give. 

After an hour Orman finally came back in.“They are giving you possession of controlled substances, and you’ll be put on probation.” He handed over a thick sheet of paper and counted on his fingers. “This means getting a job, never missing day of school, keeping out of any questionable business, not leaving the state, and monthly check ins with a drug counselor. Understand?” Enzo nodded. “Good, sign these and you’re free, do you have a ride?”

A officer came in unlocked his restrains, Enzo eyed him and rubbed his fingers into the raw skin. Before he signed anything though he turned back to Orman, “Can I have my phone,” Roman had   
promised, Enzo was going to see if he kept it. Maybe he was stupid, for letting Roman in, maybe he was opening himself to being left again. Maybe he would be forgent, maybe he’d have the same relationship with Roman Vincent and him had. 

It was worth the try. 

Roman was already waiting in the parking lot when he got Enzo’s call, leaning against the car. He stared at the name, trying to keep his composure. He was falling, falling, reaching, grabbing for a lip. Something to break his fall. But in the end he only had himself, and his thoughts. 

He thought of when he had more. When he had a family. He remember his mother’s smile, and Vincent’s easy tone. His father’s gentle looks and soft hands. The way his family fit together, like a puzzle piece. Now he was a lonely piece, abandoned after his brother burned the rest of them to ashes. After his mother, and then his father were lowered into the ground and he never saw his brother smile again. After the pills on the bathroom floor had dissolved and his father’s body had gone cold. After his mother had took her last breath and the rosy color from her cheeks had faded to ice. 

He thought about how it felt, to feel blood rushing through his heart as Enzo worked bruises on his neck. The warmth of another body in his sheets. 

“I'm outside.” Roman said and then hung up. It was all he could do. It was all the strength he had left to spare. When Enzo crashed through the doors and into the dark night Roman forcibly looked eslewehere. Enzo hung back, unsure of Roman’s willingness. He looked disheveled, still wearing his school uniform, hair tangled, eyes puffy. 

His smile was gone. 

Roman looked away. He could feel himself putting his chains back on. Like when he’d first tried to keep his distance from Enzo. It creeped back into his chest, the hungry aching feeling of want. Except it tore through his body, his soul, his heart. His mind was a warring country. He was in too much pain to reach out, but part of him understood that if he did his hurt would melt away.

“It’s wasn't mine.” 

Roman kicked his tire. Truth was a frustrating thing. It wasn’t tangible, but you could feel it like a weight in your chest. Lies made you feel incredibly light, almost airy. But truth, it stuck to you, and held you under the water, the only way to survive it was to learn how to breathe. Enzo words were like hands cupping his face, nails digging into his flesh, yanking him hard onto the pavement.   
The lights in the car turned on. Spilling yellow across the ground as Roman slipped inside. He did not have words right now, he just wanted to think. Somehow Enzo understood, and just quietly got in the passenger side. Together they sat in the dark. Roman tipped his head back onto the headrest and squeezed his eyes shut. 

Light flickered on the edges of his vision. 

Enzo’s breathing was loud in his ear. 

Enzo had betrayed his trust. With every day Roman had begun to think that Enzo was different. That he wouldn’t hurt him, he wouldn’t drive a knife right through Roman soft underbelly. Roman twisted the key in the ignition, the car grumbled to life and without a single look Roman backed out of his parking spot and out of the police station. He needed a place to think, where his mind could be clear. 

They drove for a while. Roman making wild turns and not paying attention the meter on his dash. If he wasn't careful enough blue lights would flash in his review and he’d get a ticket. It’s not like he cared. His mind was too full of other things to be worried about that. Soon Roman didn't recognize the street, the sloping fields, the narrows roads were unfamiliar. He’d taken them north, into the woods, but not their woods. The sky was black above. His open window let cold air tear across his cheeks. He couldn't hear Enzo’s breathing over the sounds. 

Finally Enzo couldn't take it, he said shakily, “Rome, please say something.” 

Roman ducked his head, trying to wipe the reply off of his mouth. 

“Rome.” 

His voice shook the car. Or Roman’s insides. A sickness rose up in Roman’s stomach, spilling into his stomach, twisting and trashing until Roman didn't think he could keep the car straight. He breathed through his teeth, but Enzo kept talking. 

“It wasn't mine. Someone put it in my bag.” 

Roman pulled the car over. It was a one lane road and there wasn't much of a shoulder but he wrestled it onto the gravel shoulder. Enzo looked as if he was going to protest but got out before he could argue. Taking his keys with him he made his way out into the cold. He didn't know what to do. His body was taking over, taking control. He was shaking. His breath ripped his lungs to shreds. 

Roman went to the front of the car, took a few steps forward and flung his keys into the dark. He didn't know if he’d actually screamed when he did it or if he’d just imagined that part. He needed to move. To run. But he couldn't do any of that. So when he heard to sound of his key’s distantly crash to the ground accompanied by the opening of Enzo’s car door he couldn't stop himself from talking. 

“Why did you do it?” 

“I didn't.” 

Roman scoffed. “Bullshit.” 

“No I’m serious Roman! Someone messed with my bag, someone put it in there. I’d never do that, not to me, not to you, I know what it means to you.” His voice was raw. 

“How am I supposed to look at you without thinking of my brother? My parents,” Before he knew it he was crying, and kept talking through the salty tears. This kind crying reminded him of when his father had died, and he’d found his body in the cold bath water. His lips turned blue by the pills own doing. “How am I supposed to know that you aren't going to die. How am I supposed to understand that you won't drop dead in front of me because it’s too hard to ask for help? That you won’t curl up in a tub and just...stop.”

Shoes scuffed as Enzo made his way to stand in front of Roman. Roman kept his fists clenched and his head down as Enzo spoke. “Because i'm not that person. Because someone is trying to bully us to get something. Because I made a promise last night as you did.” he took a pause, his fingers traced the outline of the hickey peeking out of Roman’s collar, “Because i’ll never get enough of this and god knows damn well I won't do anything to sabotage it.” 

Roman swallowed a lump in his throat. For every amount Roman wanted to push Enzo away he wanted to pull him back in just as much. He was caught in this spider web of emotion and longing. In the end, there was never a time where he didn't believe Enzo. Roman looked to Enzo and in return Enzo said, “Because I want to kiss you, Roman Palayo. Do you believe me?” 

Roman’s heart kicked up dirt at the words. “I believe you.” 

Enzo’s breath was cold across Roman’s damp cheeks. Roman let his eyes flutter close. His heart ran circles around itself, banging on the cage of his ribs. Enzo’s lips were soft, tender, unsure and questioning. But it was all Roman needed. He didn't feel like he was falling anymore. 

Enzo was, not his brother. 

His brother, was not a monster. 

Roman felt Enzo’s reach up to his waist, and then Enzo wound his fingers into Roman’s belt loops and tugged their hips flush. This earned rush of breath from both parties, and Roman felt himself fall deeper into the kiss. Skin against skin, promises kept. He played with the idea of them just making out in his car but eventually Enzo broke away. When Enzo pulled back Roman’s lips were warm. They buzzed, as if they were still kissing. Enzo turned and jogged off, presumably to go get Roman’s abandoned keys. Roman went back to his car. He sank down in the seat.

He felt a question settle in his mind like a rock. He didn't have time to act on it though, because Enzo let out a piercing scream. 

“Roman, watch out!” 

Everything stopped. Roman looked up, light flashed in his rear view mirror. A car was barreling forwards. Intention laced in the growl of the approaching engine. 

Roman’s lips were still warm. 

The car crashed into him.


	16. Shrieking In My Ear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yeah, im sorry too

Enzo’s throat was closing. His breath rattled around in his his chest. 

“Enz,” Roman wheezed from beside him. 

It tore a hole through them both. 

“Enzo.” 

Enzo had managed to drag Roman out of the ticking car. That had been hell. All he could here while he heaved Roman’s bleeding body across the center console was the pleads for him to stop. They were Roman’s, shrieks of desperation and hurt tangled with sharp and unerring pain. They were in his ear. They bounced off his skull, traumatizing Enzo into stillness. Roman was lying on the slick pavement now, Enzo was standing by the car. His phone was gripped tightly in his fist. His feet wouldn't move. The air around him was thick, it stung his lungs. Every second that past, every heartbeat Enzo’s heard in his ear drew Enzo deeper into his trance. 

“Enzo.” 

Suddenly everything snapped into clarity. Enzo was reaching out to Roman in and instant, rushing over and falling onto his knees beside Roman. 

Roman’s eyes were closed. Enzo took his bloodied hand. Tremors shook Roman’s muscles. “I'm here, i’m here.” the same earthquakes that racked Romans figure paralyzed Enzo. It was forever before a thought crossed his mind other than, Roman, Roman, Roman. The seconds that passed were torture. They were slow, they were the shaky breaths Roman drew. 

Enzo pressed a few buttons then brought the cold surface of his phone to his ear. He didn't know how he did it. Maybe it was because Roman’s hand was in his, maybe because he could feel the gentle pulse of Roman’s heart against his skin. When he was done he cast the phone away, dreading the response that would paint Roman’s expression when he realized they were going to the hospital. 

Before Enzo could clear his mind. Before he could steel himself for Roman’s own pain, Roman groaned weak and desperate, “Enzo, it hurts so much.” His voice broke at the end, and Enzo felt his heart split along with it. Rubbing his cheek against his shoulder Enzo tried his best to wipe away his own tears. Somewhere inside him Enzo was writhing in pain like Roman. But here, on the surface, Enzo was clenching his teeth. Trying to breathe. Trying not to let Roman’s voice break him too much. “God, i hurt so much.” Roman cried again. Part of Enzo was glad he couldn't see his face, if he could Enzo didn't know he’d be able to stay afloat. 

“I know.” Enzo said, voice shaky. He sniffed. “I know it does. Just hold on they’ll be here in a  
second.”

The second the words left his tongue he hated himself for it. 

He felt every muscle in Roman’s body turn to stone. Shivers scratched down his back. Horse were hidden in the short time they sat there in silence. “Are you hurt?” Roman asked finally. The sound was hollow. 

A small laugh came out before Enzo could stop it. It made him laugh a little more, the marvel of laughing now. Then it made him cry more. 

“Yeah, Rome, I’m okay.” 

Roman nodded his head. He was slipping. Enzo could see it, in the way he held himself. The line of his shoulders was tense but rounded. Their grip on each other had weakened on Roman’s part. 

Enzo’s lungs ceased a little bit. 

“Good.” His eyebrows scrunched up. Waves of pain struck him, and Enzo had to sit by and watch as Roman was shattered again, and again. Through gritted teeth he said, “Call my brother. Please. Tell him I said I’m sorry.” 

Roman’s eyes fluttered close. 

“Roman,” Enzo shook his shoulder. “Roman. Roman.” 

Without thinking Enzo’s finger slid down to the other boy’s wrist. He was pressing gently, feeling, looking, hoping for that small pulse. 

But there was nothing. 

Enzo unraveled like a ball of yarn.


	17. What You Mean

Enzo held Roman’s phone in his hands. They were shaking lightly, and there was dried blood underneath his finger tips. 

The overhead lights were harsh. Everything in the waiting room was bleached, distant mumbling and hushed voices filled his ears. So did Roman’s screams.   
_Please stop_

_ It hurts so much _

_ God, I hurt so much _

Enzo’s cheeks were wet. 

He tried to stop the tears. He tried to hold them in, he tried focus. But he couldn't stop them. God did he feel like an idiot. He shouldn’t have left Roman in the car. He should have asked if Orman could have gotten him a ride home. He should have stayed home from school. He should have told the police about the break in, or the attack. He should have fought back. He should have carried peppery spray. 

He should have kept Roman safe. 

It hurt so much. God, Enzo hurt so much. 

Enzo cried. Roman was in surgery. He could be dead. Last time Enzo had touched him his pulse had been still, and his heart had been pounding for every beat Roman’s didn't.  

His chest was closing. The world was a thin untouchable thing. All Enzo could see was Roman.   
Breathing was a chore. 

Finally, Enzo gathered enough courage to turn Roman’s phone on. His lock screen was a picture of white sheets, Enzo’s head rested on Roman’s bear chest, all you could see was his brown hair turned red by the morning sun. 

Enzo took a shaky breath, he clicked on Roman’s messages. Finding Vincent’s contact wasn't hard, since he was a recent but dialing him was harder. Enzo tired to choke down as much of his own grief before he actually called him. 

He still wasn't prepared for the punch to his chest when the other end picked up. 

Vincent’s voice was soft, tender, hopeful. “Hi?” 

Enzo clapped a hand over his mouth and tried to muffle a sob. He squeezed his eyes shut. It was cold in the hospital, it smelt like shitty cafateria food and cleaning product. “It’s Enzo.” 

He was surprised. “Oh, uh.” 

“We got in a car accident. Roman’s in the hospital. I don't know if he’s going to be okay.” 

Enzo couldn't breathe. His head was spinning.   
“What hospital?” Vincent growled. 

“Clarkston City Hospital.” 

“Okay.” 

Vincent hung up and left Enzo staring at the secret picture Roman had taken of him. 

By the time Vincent stumbled into the waiting room Enzo had slipped away. He was staring at the far wall arms hugged around himself, thinking of nothing. A hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. Enzo looked up. 

It was Roman. His warm brown eyes red with fresh tears. His dark eyelashes wet. It was Roman. And he was hear, and he was alive, and he was standing, and he was breathing.

Vincent spoke first. “I'm sorry.” 

_ Tell him I said I’m sorry _

Something shifted inside Enzo, and all he could see was red. “You fucking bastard!” Enzo stood up, rolling his shoulders back and baring his teeth. “YOU! You did this, you did all of this!” He was unleashed. He was screaming, trying to drown out the sounds of Roman’s words. 

_ God, I hurt so much _

“Enzo sit down!” Vincent said gripping both of his shoulders. He tried to force him down, Enzo wouldn't have it.

“NO!” He was crying now too. “NO! You fucking did this, you, you're the one that ruined everything. And-and. Now Roman is  _ dead.”  _

Vincent shook Enzo violently, trying to get him to stop. He was a runaway train that was barreling towards self destruction. People were beginning to stare, that was the last thing they needed. “Enzo, stop. He’s not dead.” 

Enzo stopped. “What?” 

“He’s not dead, not yet. And you sitting here accusing me of trying to kill my own brother isn’t going to help.” Vincent’s tone was hard, and demanding. They locked eyes. 

They were Roman’s eyes. 

Enzo hurt so much. 

He sat down. The vinyl seat creaked as he gripped it. His knuckles were white. He was staring into Roman;s eyes, and as Vincent spoke he imagined it was Roman talking. “Look I don't know what exactly happened, I don't know why, but I know what he means to you-what you mean to him. I'm not blind that’s one thing. But you can't just sit here and get mad. You can't just sit here. You have to do  _ something,  _ anything. Because if something does happen, you’ll blame yourself. And then when the time comes you’ll be just as dead as Roman. So, go. Take a walk. Talk to the doctors, the police. Just, do something.” 

Enzo swallowed. Hard. “Okay.” 

His throat was dry. He was hungry.

“Okay” Vincent said letting go of Enzo’s shoulders. Shaky, Enzo stood and pushed past Vincent. 

He didn't know where he was going. He felt Vincent’s eyes on his back. Stuffing his hands in his pockets he made his way out of the waiting room. 

Roman was alive, for now.

Enzo turned the corner. 

He stopped breathing. Patrick Abbott stared back at him.


	18. Father and Son, Brother and Brother

He was frozen. 

Patrick’s face was hard.

And old. He had deep creases around his eyes and a scruffy beard. His hair was thinner, and spots of gray were sprinkled around his mop. 

Patrick was different. 

Enzo was taller than him. It was weird. 

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Enzo had never really thought about his and his father’s reunion, but he knew this was all wrong. Something just felt twisted, and black. This was all wrong. 

He stumbled backwards. Catching himself of the corner of the wall. Patrick followed, not even letting room to breathe between him and his son. 

“Enzo, you look beat up.” 

That voice. Oh god that voice. Enzo swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He pushed down the distant memories. Blood. A cracked window. A cut on his forehead. His father’s angry words hurled at him. Never good enough. Never enough. Never deserving. 

He thought of Roman’s lips on his. He thought of keys in his palm. The feeling of right, right, right, right. 

Enzo looked at his father. Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

“Same for you.” Enzo bit out. 

Patrick lifted and eyebrow. It was like lifting a hand to him. Enzo flinched. Patrick grinned. A small chuckle echoed from his chest. “You’re just the same aren't you? I thought after all these years you might grow a pair. You’ve always been a pussy haven't you.” He took a step closer, Enzo could smell alcohol on his breath. “Tell me Enzo, have you found someone else’s dick to suck yet? Or am I still your number one choice?” 

Enzo kept his eyes on his father. He tried to keep a neutral expression but his lips curved up into a snark. “Actually.” 

His father’s eyes clouded for a second. 

He backhanded Enzo across the cheek. 

It stung. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. He looked to the side, rain streaked the windows. Light glanced off the wet ground and made the night a warm place to look at. They reminded him of the fireplace. Burning.  _ Right, right, right. _

“We need to talk.” Patrick said grabbing Enzo by his sleeve. He hauled him off the wall and shoved him down the hallway. Enzo stumbled for a second, then clutched at the wall before straightening himself. Patrick was right behind him, with an earful of hurtful words. Enzo let them roll off, remembering all the words Roman had given him. 

_ I believe you _

_ Right , right, right. _

They crossed the waiting room. Enzo didn't even look for Vincent, he just kept his eyes straight. He just kept walking, Patrick would tell him where to go. While they walked Enzo pulled out Roman’s phone, he stared at the secret picture. 

_ Right, right, right.  _

He went to the camera, and then from there to the photos. There were a couple of those photos, they only had small differences. But they made Enzo smile. He wiped his tear away and rolled his shoulders back. Then before his father could see what his was doing stuffed this fist holding the phone into his pocket. 

Silently he made his way down the hall. He could feel every breath his father drew behind him. And it took everything inside him not to turn around and watch his every move. He didn’t like his father prowling behind him. They passed a linen closet, Patrick reached forward and hooked Enzo’s collar at the same time he threw open the door. Enzo was thrown into the dark closet. He stumbled, then was slammed into the hard wall. Before he could regain his balance Patrick was in his face again. 

Cold rough hands wrapped around his neck. 

Enzo froze.   
His eyes blew wide, and Patrick looked at him with a hate so intense it made Enzo’s heart hitch. He’d never seen that kind of anger inside his father. It consumed him. It made Enzo’s blood freeze in his veins. 

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. 

Enzo reacted finally. He reached up and clawed at his father’s hands. The ones around his neck. Patrick only squeezed harder. Enzo was burning. His throat was collapsing. Patrick pushed him up. Enzo was scrabbling for purchase, his toes barely brushed the floor.   
No. 

Patrick leaned in. “You’ve taken something that doesn't belong to you.” 

Everything stopped. 

He wheezed. “It was you.” 

Enzo saw the answer flicker in his father’s eyes. 

Right. 

Anger welled up in Enzo like it never had before. He drew in a bit of air, the most he could get around his father’s hands. Enzo gripped at Patrick’s hands, he dug his nails into his skin. They bit into his flesh, he hoped he drew blood. 

He felt his father’s hands loosen, and a small amount of pain flash across his face. 

“You. Fucking. Bastard.” It didn't sound like much with the small amount of oxygen he was working with. 

Enzo saw bright color flicker on the sides of his vision. He felt his lungs tightening. He head was burning. 

“After all this time you still haven’t figured it out?” Patrick looked genuinely surprised. “I'm not surprised, you were always stupid. But even after I rammed you with my car? After I broke into my house. After I had you jumped, or planted drugs in your bag, or maybe when I trashed that girl’s dorm room. Was the rat too much of a red herring, or maybe it was the note.” 

Enzo wanted to tear his head off. He thrashed in his father’s hold. Trying to kick something important, but his father just stepped forward and pinned Enzo’s legs to the wall with his body. Enzo dug his nails into his father’s skin harder.

“Now i'm gonna tell you something. Your gonna go out there and sign the house away. After all it does not belong to you anyways. It should have been mine. But the bitch had to get her titties in a twist and give to you.” 

For every bruise, cut and drop of blood him and Roman had shead he wanted his father to feel. But this was the best he could mange. These measly moon shaped cuts he’d leave his father with. Maybe they’d scar, maybe every time Patrick would see his hands he’d remember all the atrocities he’d caused. 

“I'm not giving you shit.” Enzo said, barely loud enough for Patrick to hear. He had enough air to stay alive but speaking was going to be hard. Instead Enzo spit in his father’s face. 

Patrick let go.   
Enzo fell to the ground. He crumbled onto the cold linoleum floor, curling around himself and coughing. His vision flickered back, his lungs were gasping. He gulped down air, barely getting enough in one breath. 

Before he could recover, Patrick Abbott kicked Enzo in the stomach. He felt sick down to every bone in his body. His stomach twisted violently and he retched up all the air he’d just stolen back. 

But god was he angry. He was livid. There was nothing that could halt his barreling train of fury. It was his home, it was his place. He deserved it and he wasn't just going to give it up because Patrick bared his teeth. He’d have to kill Enzo first. Weakly, he looked up at his father and the ruined man he was and growled, “Fuck you. You’re just as pathetic as your father.” 

Patrick knelt down, “Welcome to the club.” 

Enzo punched him. 

He stumbled back, his hands clutching his nose. Blood gushed around his fingers. Enzo smiled. Enzo pushed himself up, leaning against the wall on his own accord. He sighed. His hand was aching and it hurt like a bitch but god to see his father’s blood splattered on the floor, it was worth it. 

This wasn't over. Enzo knew he still couldn't manage standing up without throwing up but patrick was standing back up again. 

He wobbled a bit. Then swiped the back of his already bloody hand across his broken nose. Partick looked down at his son, he reached into his pocket. 

Metal glinted in the small light coming in from the cloudy window. It was a knife. 

Enzo’s heart sank. 

This was it. 

Maybe if he died Roman might at least die too and they could spend eternity together. 

Patrick leaned down. Cold seeped into Enzo skin, in the same spot his father’s hand had been minutes ago. Enzo closed his eyes, and thought of kissing Roman goodbye. 

The door opened. Light flooded into the closet. 

Patrick whipped around, immediately tucking his knife away. Enzo saw the opportunity and took it. With all the strength he had left he shoved his father back. Patrick, unbalanced in his crouched position fell backwards, sprawling flat on the ground. 

From here Enzo could see the intruder.   
Vincent stood in the doorway. His feet were planted, his eyes were hard, his mouth was twisted. He was holding a gun. It wasn't pointed at Enzo. It was pointed directly at Patrick. 

“Enzo, would you come over here?” Vincent’s eyes didn't even flick over to Enzo, they were trained on his father. “No?” Vincent said when Enzo didn't move, he didn't think he could if he tried. “Okay that’s okay.” Vincent tipped the gun to the opposite side of the tiny linen closet, “Hey! Mister Abbott, get your sorry ass up off the floor and over there.” 

Patrick glared at Vincent but eventually stumbled over to the far shelf. He left skids of blood. Enzo grinned. He was quite proud. 

“I think it’s time you leave this hospital. This city, This state. Or better yet, this fucking country. Do you know who I am Mr. Abbott?” 

Patrick spit a wad of red saliva on the ground. His head lolled, “You’re that Palayo bastard.” 

“Yeah, and you fucked with my brother. And you fucked with my brother’s friend. And to be decent you fucked with your own son, that’s not a father. You’re not a father, you’re just sad. Now, get the fuck up, get the fuck out, and stay the fuck away.” Vincent finished with a sharp smile. It was dangerous and sarcastic, it made his threats have even more effect, it was that or either the black gun he held comfortably. 

Enzo let out a long breath. He drew in another. 

“He’s my son, don't try and teach me how to parent. You’re just a child. Stop sticking your nose in shit that’s not yours.” 

“Next time you call me a child there’ll be one less bullet in this gun and one more in your head” Vincent didn't even flinch. 

Patrick began to speak, “Bullshi-” his own voice cut him off. It was coming from the phone Enzo held loosely in his hand. 

“ _ I'm not surprised, you were always stupid. But even after I rammed you with my car? After I broke into my house. After I had you jumped- _ ” Enzo paused the video and looked up at Vincent. “Do you think that’s incriminating Vin?”

Vincent finally looked at Enzo, he was wearing the brightest smile Enzo had seen on him yet. “Yes Enzo, yes I think it is.” 

Enzo turned to look at his father. “Now, get up and leave. Don't come back.” He waved the phone in the air, “Or I might just have to send this into the police. Now what would that do to your reputation? I can already see the headlines, the press would have a field day. You’d never hear the end of it.” 

Patrick look genuinely shocked. Enzo saw him swallow hard. He smiled back at his father and waved. “Goodbye.” 

“Get the fuck out.” Vincent said moving forwards. 

Patrick got up. Hastily he put his hands up and maneuvered out the door. He left without another word. 

When he did Enzo let out the breath he’d been holding in and closed his eyes. 

Finally. 

Vincent tucked his gun away and sat down next to Enzo. He smelt like expensive cologne and cigarettes. He was wearing all black, the only color was the light reflected off of his shiny shoes. 

After a while Enzo said, “Why did you do it? Come in here guns blazing, you could have left me here for my father to take care of, problem solved.”

“Like I said, i'm not stupid, I know Roman would do anything to keep you, hell he’d do more for you than he’d do for me. But I know you’d do the same for him. And that- that’s irreplaceable. I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done for him when he wouldn’t let me.”  

“I thought you hated me.” Enzo replied.

Vincent chuckled. “I never did.” 

“How’d you know. About me, and Roman.” 

“Same way I knew Patrick was here, and beating the shit out of you in a linen closet. I watch. I'm always watching.” 

Now Enzo chuckled. Roman and his brother were so similar. He had so many other questions. Why was Vincent here? Did Vincent and his father know each other? But they were for another time.  

 


	19. Hello, and Goodbye/Promise

Roman woke up slowly, and then all at once. 

He jerked. The weight in his lap jerked too, and then he went cold as the body draped across him sat up. 

Roman kept his eyes closed. He felt like one giant ache. The rear of his eyes hurt, his shoulders were tense, and his left forearm gently pulsed. 

Someone whispered. He thought he recognized the voice but couldn't make out the words.. Roman let out a mumble. Roman felt the hand resting on his thigh squeeze gently. Skin slid against skin as Roman’s own hand was taken, a thumb pressed into his wrist. 

“Roman.” The voice was hopeful. 

Roman coaxed himself into answering. “Enzo.” It came out cracked and barely a whisper, but it was there. 

Enzo let out a breath that Roman felt shake his own chest. He heard quiet crying. Enzo brought Roman’s right hand up and pressed his mouth to it, a tear fell and wet his skin. Enzo didn't let go of Roman’s hand. Soon the weight returned to Roman’s lap as Enzo lay back down. 

It felt like forever before Roman could open his eyes. When he did Enzo was blinking up at him, his blue eyes swallowing Roman’s attention. 

Enzo squeezed Roman's hand and smiled, “You kept your promise.” 

Roman squeezed back.   
Roman’s eyes flicked up. His throat started to close. The room was bare. The only thing in it was a sleek looking lamp and a large blurry painting of a basket of fruit. 

He couldn't breathe. 

Panicked, he looked around. His brother was napping in the chair in the corner, he was laying in a hospital bed, there was an end table with a water pitcher and magazines. Linoleum floor, pale curtains. It was suffocating. It looked the same as the hospital his mother had died in. He was here, again, loosing, losing, loosing. 

Enzo squeezed his hand. “Rome, Roman look at me.” 

Roman did, but he was breathing hard. His vision was blurry. His skin crawled. He needed to move, to get away, he needed to run. 

“Roman, you’re fine.” 

But he wasn't. He was dying on the inside. Ripping his hand away Roman reached for his covers. He was going to leave, he had to. It was the only way. 

He couldn't breathe. 

Enzo caught his hand before he could go anywhere. “Rome, stop.”

He didn't, Roman fought against his grip. There were tears in his eyes, but they didn't spill out. “No, no no. nonononono. I-I. I  _ have  _ to go. I have to leave. I can't stay here. It’s not safe.” 

Enzo kissed Roman. It’s was a plead. It was a  _ you are safe here. _ It was,  _ you’re alive, you’re alive, oh god I thought you were dead, but you’re not. You. Are. Alive.  _ When he broke of Roman’s mind was swimming. He still wanted to run but how could he when Enzo was pressing his forehead to his and saying words Roman thought he’d never heard again. 

“You’re safe.” Enzo swallowed, and let his eyes close. “I love you, Roman.” 

Roman stopped breathing. 

He was okay. 

The next few hours were hell. Roman was in pain, and he couldn't move much. He wanted to leave. He still wasn't comfortable but every time he’d start to panic he closed his eyes and remembered he was safe. Enzo sat by his side, sitting in a chair he’d dragged over to Roman’s bedside and then proceeded to lay across him, tangling his fingers in his blankets. 

Vincent woke up. Roman didn't really know what to say to him. Vincent’s eyes were swollen, and that hurt. They wandered down to Enzo’s sleeping figure, Roman was running his hand through Enzo’s hair. Roman looked away. They said nothing to each other. 

A few nurses and a doctor came in. They checked on him, asked him questions about his pain and 

told him exactly what happened. Apparently the CPR Enzo performed was enough to get his heart started again. Enzo squeezed his hand when the doctor mentioned it. Roman noticed him pale a little. After that they rushed him to the hospital and then took him to surgery. There, they discovered his spleen had ruptured and the doctors were unable to save it. That surprisingly the worst part, and he was lucky to not have any worse injuries. However his arm had been broken and he’d be in a cast for the next couple months. 

The doctor moved on. He was going to be released but would be expected to come back for check ups and stitch removable at the appropriate time. Vincent was listing to the entire thing, hands folded and head nodding. Roman rolled his eyes. Enzo squeezed his hand. 

“Now,” The doctor waved a finger at him. “No exercise, no stupid stuff, stay out of trouble.” 

Roman nodded. 

The doctor pointed straight at Enzo. “Also no sex until you get your stitches out.”

Enzo put a hand to his chest, “Me?  _ Never. _ ”

“Yes you.” 

“Do blow jobs count?” 

Roman commented, “I hate you.” 

Enzo nudged him, “No you dont.” 

The doctor wrote something down on his clipboard, he seemed unfazed. “Yes.” At the same time 

Vincent said in a loud voice, “Okaayyy” He clapped his hands together and looked at the doctor, “Is that all?  
“Yup,” The doctor left. 

“I hate you.” 

“No you don't.”

 

Enzo told him about what had happened. He told him about when Vincent showed up. He talked about Patrick. He talked about what happened in the linen closet. He cried when he did. Roman pulled him in and hugged him the best he could with a broken arm and a side full of stitches. Then Enzo told him about Vincent showing up. Roman looked at his brother. Vincent’s face was weary, he looked...sorry. Roman swallowed the apology in his mouth. 

  
  


Roman was discharged the next day. He was glad to leave. Vincent pulled a pair of clothes out of a plastic bag and left Enzo to help Roman get dressed. He couldn’t put his shoes or socks on,  or put on his shirt or button his jeans. He was glad to have Enzo there. Even though the constant, “Im sorry” every time Roman looked slightly in pain got annoying. 

“Shut up, it’s not your fault”

“I know.” 

“Do you?” 

“I just don't want you to hurt.” 

Roman kissed him after that. 

 

They took Vincent’s rental to the house. 

It had been cleaned. Enzo helped Roman out of the car, he tried to help him up the stairs but Vincent butted in and sent him to go get the bags. Enzo swallowed and met Roman with a questioning look. Roman just wanted to get inside, it was raining. Vincent smelt like cigarettes and tears as he guided Roman to the front door. The door had been fixed, the furniture had been cleaned up, and the floors had been swept. There were boards over the broken windows. Vincent must have done it over the days Roman had been in the hospital. He was really sucking up. 

Roman swallowed the lump in his throat. 

Vincent led him to the couch. 

 

That night, Vincent took Roman’s room. 

They still hadn't said barely a word, but they weren't fighting. Roman noted Enzo openness to his brother. It made him a bit angry but he pushed it away. Vincent had helped Enzo when he needed it. That was enough to let it slide. 

Roman lay in bed. He was still in pain and couldn't do more than sleep on his back. Enzo lay next to him. He was talking. About a song. 

Roman thought. 

There was still so much that they needed to sort out. Patrick, drug charges, a new car, his brother and all the problems that followed him around.

But for now, he laid in bed and talked to Enzo about his favorite things. When their eyelids grew heavy, when Roman’s mind stopped wandering to the sound of Enzo’s screaming voice or his own blood Enzo leaned in and whispered. 

“Promise.” 

Roman kissed him. 

“Promise.”

This could be the end. This could always be the end, but it wasn't. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll miss these boys. Hopefully I return to them one day.


End file.
